


hold me closer than your fantasy

by selfetish



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Actor Ash, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Angst, Character Development, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Film Student Eiji, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inferiority Complex, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfetish/pseuds/selfetish
Summary: "You're here, Eiji. In my room, on my bed. Perfect timing if you ask me.""Perfect timing? What's that supposed to mean?" spat Eiji, apprehensively watching him undo the buttons at his clavicle with one hand. He gulps and backs as far away as he can, until he's pressed up against his headboard and eventually, Ash himself."Get a leg up and sleep with me." And he knew he was absolutely serious with how slowly he crawled on top of him, fingers gliding over his thighs. Eiji shivers and waves his hands up in front of his face, lips stuttering as he searches for words, any words to say."Have you lost your mind? I mean, I've never— Not with anyone!""Then allow me to be your first."An aspiring cinematographer struggles to make a name for himself in the film industry until the illustrious and mysterious Ash Lynx gives him his wings.
Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji
Comments: 165
Kudos: 399





	1. prologue | a silent cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the moon, smoke, and tears

* * *

_i don't want to love you._

_i just want to learn you._

_but i'd love to know you well._

[ _\- the paper kites_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1Q-e4Z_Mpo)

* * *

i.

It’s one of those parties with champagne glasses stacked impressively high on top of each other, resembling those Great Pyramids of Giza; the kind of party that reeks too much of flowers and designer parfum; where live music pulses so loud from the main hall that it bobs in his throat and laughter rings painfully in his ears.

The tune is infectious— he’s shifting his weight from left to right foot, tilting his head in an off-rhythm. Weird, Eiji thinks, that he’s the only one acknowledging the performance. No one else is, not one person in this big, big mansion. Not even one sway of the infamous Anglo Saxon hip (not that Eiji was a dancer himself). Ibe really wasn’t kidding when he said it was one of _those_ adult parties. The boring kind with fur-trimmed coats in the summer and casual kisses on the cheek and expensive wine tasting.

He’s already twenty-four and yet he still hates these types of events. Eiji much prefers the quietness of his company of one, just him and his camera. Maybe it’s the blood of his country that courses through his veins but he just couldn’t bring himself to try and socialize here. He feels bad of course; Ibe brought him here out of his own comfort zone with only good intentions, hoping he’d make some good connections from his network of notable acquaintances. But Eiji stuck out like a sore thumb in this sea of brand names and haute couture. After all, the only nice outfit he’d brought with him was that red, wool sweater his sister got him two Christmases ago and a blue button down underneath.

Being here only made him anxious. It wasn’t noticeable but the moths had already gotten to the sleeves. Eiji wasn’t materialistic at all, but in the presence of glitter and glamor, he had wished he spent a little more money on himself to even be on par with the other attendees. No one would give him the time of day in clothes like these. Not that anyone would anyways, no. He was merely the unknown pupil of Ibe Shunichi, the Stanley Kubrick of Japan.

And so, he decides to wait it out, Ibe’s idle chit-chat that is, until he's ready to be introduced to someone, _anyone._

He steps out onto the spacious balcony, greeted by flora entangling the cement railings. The chill of night blows onto his feverish face, gusting past his raven hair. It makes him feel like he’s high up in the mountains; makes him feel like he's up with the birds like the good old days. His lungs fill with fresh air, exhaling all of his worries and nerves out, finding his inner calm.

He drags his off-white canvas shoes against the marble flooring, magnetized by the full moon, alone in that empty indigo sky. The Moon is him in this moment, overlooking the horizon, detached from those city lights that were so close yet so far.

Eiji decides to humor the Moon, taking a slice of her solitude. His wrists dangle off the rails as he undresses her, eyes tracing her curves, burning into her milky flesh. He looks for a rabbit there on her skin, a sign of good luck. There in her stretch marks, her craters, the imperfections she hates but he absolutely loves.

But as always, luck is not on his side. It’s something he has to make for himself.

“Good evening. My name is Okumura Eiji,” he practices to himself, biting his lip at the sound of his accent. It’s not like Japan, he reminds himself. Be confident. First name first. “Hello there! I am Okum— Eiji Okumura.” Eiji curses in his native tongue before ramming it into his head once more. “Eiji Okumura. My name is—”

“Eiji Okumura.”

ii.

The hairs on the back of his neck are raised, surprised that someone actually approached him and actually knew his name. Eiji straightens his posture and quickly folds in the holes at his wrist, facing his body rigidly to him.

Eiji freezes. (And as the ticking of a clock stops, so does one’s heartbeat).

He was a dashing young man dressed modestly in a comfortably chic kind of mode. A black, form-fitting turtleneck tucked into loose, tapered sienna-colored corduroy pants, adhered to his slim waist with a long loop belt. His leather slip-ons are so shiny that Eiji swears he can see his reflection on it, nervous sweat and all. When his neck cranes up to his face, he stops breathing. It’s as if cotton had stuffed him: the music was muffled in his ears with only the timbre of this handsome stranger cooing clearly; his mouth was dry, so unbearably dry that it felt like he could choke; his body heavy as he barely found the strength to even lift a finger.

He looks like the cover of one of those magazines his sister ate up as a middle-schooler, a teenage heartthrob like River Phoenix with his wild gold hair and fair skin; a long, upturned nose and sharp jaw. Yet the air around him, his being, embodied America’s darling Marlon Brando at the same time, so elegant and dreamy and untouchable. Two very different sides of the same coin.

Intimidating.

He shoves his moth-bitten sleeves into his pockets and gapes, averting his gaze to the side as to not make things more uncomfortable than they already were.

“I am Eiji,” he starts quietly as if to test the waters. “Have we met?”

“No, first time. You just kept repeating your name, so I caught on. You practicing for an acceptance speech?” the stranger cleverly quips back, lifting a brow at him.

“Oh, I— No. Nothing like that. Just practicing my people skills,” Eiji answers honestly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“People skills, huh? You’re funny,” comments the stylish man, offering a small smile. Eiji notices the dimples dotting his cheek and he finds it his stomach twisting in ways he didn't know could. “Ash, by the way.”

“Ash,” Eiji mimics, absentmindedly adding another vowel sound at the end of his name. Just as practiced, he sticks his hand out and greets, “Good evening.”

“So formal,” notes Ash, returning the gesture and shaking his hand. His fingers are long, delicate, and much bigger than his. “Hope you don’t mind me being here. Kinda needed a break from everyone in there. You know how parties like these can get.” (He doesn’t.)

“There is more than enough space for the both of us,” Eiji says with a kind grin, scooting over to his right so the blond stranger could lean against the rail and admire the starless night with him. 

“Thanks.” If anyone here is lucky, it’s the Moon for having two attractive young men stare longingly at her. Unlike Ash, however, Eiji grows unfaithful, sneaking curious glances at the blond. His voice is ariose and pleasing, stature hovering his own. Broad shoulders that slimmed down to the hip. Light muscle that curved and his bicep, his abdomen. He was beautiful— God, Eiji could _kill_ for his cameras right now with this almost extreme sensory overload. The moon pales in comparison to him.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Ash asks, propping his cheek onto his palm and cocking a brow up. As he wordlessly interrogates him, Eiji can’t help but take this as a chance to notice all of the things he hadn’t before, looking for a flaw in the seemingly flawless. There’s nothing. “Anybody home? Hello?” He waves a hand in front of his face.

“I was,” _definitely staring at you,_ “Just thinking. It’s been a long night and I’m tired.”

“That makes two of us. This party fucking sucks.” Ash turns around, now resting his elbows on the baluster. He sighs and blows the long bangs framing his face, lifting his head up to meet the moon backwards. It’s reflected in the meadow in Ash’s eyes, swaying in the long jade grass. There, it’s a serene summer night with the sound of cicadas singing and muddied feet chasing after those glowing lights that lit the way to the Underworld, reminding him of the forests back in Izumo. It’s always the small things that remind him of home.

“It is a shame. The music is lovely and so are the decorations, but the guests here,” Eiji shudders, “They're unapproachable, and…” He taps his chin, looking for the right word to say without sounding offensive.

“Old and snooty.” 

“Ah, not quite what I was looking for.” Ash digs into his pockets for a moment, fishing out a pack of Marlboros and a silver ignition lighter with a “G” engraved in the front. He offers a cigarette to Eiji, who refuses with every fiber in his body, shaking his head and both hands.

He thinks of his father out on their patio overlooking their garden, sitting by his lonesome smoking with a newspaper in hand. Smoking, as he watched Eiji grow taller out there, as he watched Harumi blossom. Forever smoking, staining his lungs— staining Eiji’s own lungs. Coughing that raspy, phlegmy cough until they learned to block it out every morning and night, until they learned to accept that his life is cut shorter with every huff.

“Just say it how it is. This whole place is a big show of money anyways. Brown-nosing, exchanging business cards, snapping pictures with each other for clout…Business as usual,” murmurs Ash, balancing the cigarette between his lips. He cups the side of his face, lighting a fire with a simple press of a button and setting it ablaze. Eiji watches as Ash puffs out wobbly O’s, letting the stick dangle between his fingers and ashes pile on the cement. The shapes disperse into the dark sky in an almost rhythmic pattern like ripples on a pond. When he sees Ash now, it makes him forget for a moment; the ugliness in the act, his father’s hacking, and IV tubes. “But of course, you knew that already. Someone as young as you… Eiji Okumura… Eiji Okumura…” The way he talks without even batting an eyelash at him, this laissez-faire attitude he presents himself with; it draws Eiji in like no other. He was so Hollywood, so blasé and Eiji couldn’t get enough of it. “Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of you before. What agency do you work for?”

“Agency?”

“Yeah. You _are_ an actor, right?” Eiji’s face flushes at the misconception, both flattered and a bit embarrassed. He lets out a shaky breath and chooses to laugh it off, chuckling at his trembling hands.

“You misunderstand. I am no actor. I have no agency.” And suddenly he remembers why he’s here, who he is at that moment. A Japanese man with a heavy accent and ratty clothing. A student living in the shadow of his teacher. A nobody trying to latch on to any shred of hope to break out in this tough industry. “I am no one, really.”

“Why are you here then?” A fair question, but the bluntness cuts deep into his chest.

“I… I don’t know.” How was he supposed to answer? To further his career? To watch his teacher bask in all the glory while he stands on the sidelines? “I come to places like this so often now and the result is always the same. I don’t know why I’m here to tell you the truth.”

iii.

The crackle of flame that would sound off as Ash flicked his lighter. The jazz that was drowned out with all of Eiji’s insecurities. A silence, and Eiji crumbles with every second that passed, becoming a pulverized mound like the ashes from Ash’s cigarette. Tonight is another night he remains nameless, another night he is frightened by the unknown. Crying is useless for he had long ago drifted off the easy road. So why now? Why did it now hurt to breathe? Why is it now that his eyes are stinging, glassy with frustration?

“Sorry,” Eiji finally mumbles, quickly wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Like I said, I’m exhausted. It’s about time I go—”

Ash sucks on the last drag of his cigarette, scraping it down on the rails before tossing it over. “I think your people skills are just fine.” Eiji rests his head on top of his folded arms on the baluster, angling his head toward the blond. A tear manages to slip past his eye, seeping into his sweater. And more soon follow suit, but Eiji lets it happen. 

“Thank you.” Ash’s demeanor softens for a fleeting moment before blanking back to its unreadable disposition.

Ash understands. He actually understands. Somehow, this man was able to piece back every part of him and say exactly what he needed to hear. He bleeds the salt of his soul as it poured freely from his raven eyes with a smile, relinquishing his strife. The torrents are hot on his face but he knows that this is what it means to struggle, to cling onto hope.

“I’ve no idea what you do, but you should be proud you got it this far, that you're still in one piece.” He indulges in another nicotine high, letting the smoke form into small white clouds to accompany the lonely Moon. “Some people have lost their ability to cry in this world but you still have it. Hold onto it. Cherish it.”

Eiji tilts his head in confusion, knowing that where was weight there in his advice. Ash couldn't have been much older than he was, but he felt as though he was a child listening to the wisdom of his elders, a seasoned pro in this tricky world of glitz and glamor. Who— No, what, has possibly bestowed someone as young as Ash with such maturity? With this melancholic aura?

“Ash, I—”

“Ash! There you are,” a booming voice cuts off. They both turn to find an old, robust, mustached man with arms open, expecting an embrace from Ash. Like any other guest, they're flamboyant in their choice of clothing, with their designer pin-striped suit and satin handkerchief with a golden lapel rose on his right breast pocket. His fat fingers are adorned with garnets and emeralds, sapphires and opals. It’s a wonder how the tips of his fingers aren’t purple with how many rings are shoved onto it. He assumes this to be one of Ash’s former colleagues by how absolutely ecstatic the man seems to see him, how he’s practically glowing from the mere sight of Ash himself. “My, have you grown.”

In the corner of his eye he sees Ash flinch, emerging from his facade momentarily before forcing the same tenacious grin as the man. Yes, Eiji saw it, if only for a splinter of a second. The furrow in his brow, his parted lips, the wrinkles on his forehead…

“Been a while,” he says, slack-jawed. His hair obscures his eyes, making it difficult to peruse the thick atmosphere. 

“It’s been more than a while. Look at you!”

“Look at _you._ Still fat and old as ever,” he snides. His hands are fisted into a tight ball, nails digging hard in his palms. But Ash keeps contact with the man, not budging even a centimeter.

“I see you still have that smart mouth of yours. That’s what I always loved about you,” the man heartily chuckles, but Eiji knows. He knows. Anyone would know with how Ash let the remnants of his cigarette settle at his toes, how Ash purposefully hid behind his curtain of gold, how tight his jaw had been shut. 

“What the hell’re y—”

“Let’s catch up, shall we?” He slinks around Ash, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. The noir fabric bunches in his grubby hands, refusing to let Ash have leeway to budge out of his hold. It alarms Eiji, this power move that man carried out. It disgusts him, how his hands travels down south, down the curve of his hip, to the pocket on his rear.

Eiji wants to call out to him, to ask him so many things, to engrave his image deep in his brain. But as he reaches for him, he shrinks in place. Loses his voice. That momentary burst of confidence. Ash returns to where he belongs in that shimmering world of gold and abundant stars as Eiji remains in his own, never to touch the city skyline, left in isolation.

Like the pile of cinders left by him, he is carried away by gentle zephyrs. But that breeze is nice, it’s cool, comforting. He’s flying again, far and away. And no matter where he is in this wide Earth, he’s bound to cross paths once again. Cross paths with that warm ray of hope that fuels him to go on. Again, with Ash.

Eiji sees a rabbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per usual, a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0DKvR0J92qyZTwc9ugzqS5?si=INUk8etASFiiVQ6Zybi7fArel=%22nofollow%22) for this fic. songs are subject to be changed around/deleted. 
> 
> unbeta'd. we die like men. (or, i'm tired and will edit this tomorrow).
> 
> here's to posting another story when i've got two others to update. :'^) i rewatched banafish recently and went to nyc on thurs and the inspiration struck ahahah.
> 
> i really like the format of cutting scenes into snippets since it helps me break my mind a bit so i hope it doesn't come off as confusing. or pompous. or both.
> 
> thanks for reading. :-)))


	2. laughing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> billboards, weddings, and interviews

* * *

_time goes slowly, but carries on._

_and now the best years,_

_the best years have come and gone._

[\- the guess who](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bvzdtn43vnI)

* * *

iv.

Eiji concludes that snow in New York is hideous.

Up above, perfect, uniform sheets of white descended in a fleet like crystals raining from the sky. Yet when they touched the ground, it dissolved into guck. A nice hodgepodge of certified, Grade A guck that consisted of hot dog dung, spilled coffee and litter. It loses its luster and becomes a part of the city itself, shedding its innocence and adulterating into slush.

Not to say that New York is complete filth— of course it isn't. The eye automatically draws to all of those fuzzy neon lights, those sleek black skyscrapers and regal displays down Manhattan. Eiji thinks this place to be absolutely fantastical. Perhaps it's his country boy heart, guarded away from all of the noise, the people, the technology; his country heart that has only felt the tenderness of nature, of serenity.

He sees himself in the snow and thinks that maybe it isn't so bad to dissolve into muck.

v.

Six o’clock in the morning.

Eiji’s already out on the streets with his tall, dry cappuccino, camera slung around his neck. The ground crunches beneath his boots as he crosses from block to block to nowhere in particular. By this hour, tourists are making their way into Manhattan for the Rockefeller tree, businessmen waving their taxis down, and joggers weaving through the traffic of people on the streets. His shoulders brush many strangers, but somehow the contact makes him feel as though they are now connected.

Yes, because Eiji Okumura believed in fate.

It is fate that brought him here, after all. Here in Times Square stopped in the middle of a crowd, in the cold, glancing up with groggy eyes to meet with two familiar emerald gems.

Ash Lynx.

v. (part 2)

All it took was one Google search for Eiji to know his entire career, his entire life. Ash Lynx, a child star turned blockbuster Hollywood actor. Ash Lynx, the rising sun in every young girl’s life, the apple of their eyes, fire in their loins.

It was strange how famous he was, yet Eiji knew almost nothing about him. He remembered scrolling down his entire filmography one sleepless night with an eager thumb, familiar with most of the titles but never recognizing his name.

But one particular title stood out from the rest. The controversial, award-winning _Banana Fish_ with Ibe-san credited as cinematographer.

It was a movie that explored the inner-workings of New York gangs in the eyes of a teenage mob boss. The film had garnered conversations about child neglect and sex abuse, drug use, government corruption, and the humanization of street kids. Its screenings were censored in China, boycotted by suburban mothers and divided all critics. _Banana Fish_ sparked conspiracy theories on forums all over the internet and many media outlets to warn of the violence the movie could inspire. It was nothing short of a modern masterpiece.

He recalled the promotional poster. It was a simple shot, nothing too flashy: the young, blond lead with a pistol held firm in his hands in a dark alleyway with the fluorescent sign of a diner as his only light source, reflecting off rain puddles and tinting him a faint green. (With this bit of information, he knows immediately it is Ibe’s handiwork.) But it’s the emotion on the young actor’s face, the subtle worried wrinkles between his brows, the frown that etched there on his lip and the long bangs cascading over his face, that embodied the film and all of its themes. A young man hardened by his past and fate, but facing it head on with fear and resolve.

It was Ash. The poster depicted a younger version of him with hair stopping at the middle of his neck. He was more lithe here to give him that youthful appearance of a seventeen year old.

It didn't take long for Eiji to be absolutely mesmerized by him and his strange talent to almost _disappear._ The curiosity consumed him, possessed him to learn more about that stranger from months ago down at the Hamptons.

When he searched his name, he was met with many Ashes.

Ash as a brunette. Ash with black hair. Ash with a bit more weight, and Ash with a gaunt face. Each were from different roles of different movies he’d been a part of. He was a chameleon that blended in with the many different universes he was playing in, a talent that peaked so high that he could jump down and easily fit in where he landed.

Right now, Ash is how he was back then at that party.

It was a simplistic kind of beauty. Hair untamed, posture loose yet poised. Those lips smirking that smirk Eiji could never forget.

Eiji does what he should have done all those months ago and aims his camera towards him, there above the city, larger than life itself.

Ash is sitting on a wooden chair, body slouched and legs wide open as if to invite his onlookers between them. He dons a leather jacket with nothing underneath, not leaving much to the imagination. Shadows cast all over his torso, obvious definitions of abs, and it makes Eiji sweat in his parka.

He wipes his face.

_Focus._

He points the lens on the billboard and shoots, letting the wave of New Yorkers go about their days beneath him. He angles the shot from below, giving the impression that New York was Ash’s empire, working under him as he lounged there on his makeshift throne. A young king at the front of the acting scene. A young king, birthed here in this country, this city.

Eiji lingers for a minute or two longer, unmoving from his position, capturing that still image of Ash. When he lowers his camera, the dread begins to settle in his chest.

A wasted opportunity. Wasted potential.

Not a day goes by that he does not regret chasing after him that starless night.

vi.

Cute acoustic indie music. Warm lighting. White calligraphic typography. This is the recurring theme for any beach wedding, Eiji had come to figure.

Of course, curating these types of videos were easy, so formulaic that he could compile his footage and shit out a professional looking montage in just under an hour or two. It was not a challenge.

Not until recently, at least. 

Eiji’s slumped on his desk, ready to smash his head against the screen of his computer with how absolutely bored he is with this job. For months, he had to sit through many different Johns’ and Sarahs’ weddings that it made him want to purposefully create something _bad_ to entertain himself. 

What the hell had his life come to? He'd come to America to make _films,_ not cheesy videos of couples too engrossed in each other, or rich kids’ birthday bashes.

Oh, how it _sucks_ to be poor.

He supposes he could be in a worse position. He could very well be in Japan sulking about his bad leg for the next decade or two, caged in his own little terrarium. But Ibe-san— _the_ Shunichi Ibe— picked him up and gave him another chance to live a life worth living. Gave him that purpose, that drive to take a step past his golden age.

All a part of the American dream, Eiji tells himself. You're just at the struggle part. Success takes time.

And so, he bottles his pride up and shelves it, taking one last deep breath before burning his eyes again with the bright, blossoming love of new spouses.

vi. (part 2)

They say Harumi has a boyfriend now. A straightlaced guy a year older than her, bound for Tokyo U. Of course, he only knows this because his mother had sent him a photo of a little family gathering back at home for Christmas. He's tall, handsome, and a bit _too_ mature for his bratty little sister. He wonders what kind of witchcraft she performed to get him under her spell. 

They're all together: his mother, Harumi and her boyfriend, Takashi, sitting at the end of the kotatsu. Harumi’s the one taking the picture and he notices her hair had taken a new hue of light brown, cut to an even bob at her chin. He laughs at the image, reminding him of the kokeshi dolls scattered around their home. Her boyfriend is caught between the middle of her peace sign to the left, politely smiling with his hands on his lap, long legs unable to fit under the warmth of the blanket. His mother is on the right side of the table with her hand on an empty pillow, face creased with wrinkles he's never seen before and hair losing its dark value.

> Saved a spot for you.

And it's like this every single Christmas. He's been away from home for five years now to grasp his dream with his own two hands, sacrificing everything.

How long has it been since he sat there, munching on rice cakes with variety shows droning in the back? How long has it been since he was able to pinch Harumi’s cheek or hugged his mother?

Eiji glances away from his phone and looks at his laptop, which was paused on a frame of his clients kissing at the altar.

It's been long. Too long. He thinks about Harumi dressed opulently in white, glittering gown stretching meters and meters down the long walkway to the altar. He thinks about Takashi towering over her, his wife-to-be, lifting her veil up to reveal her glowing pink face that matched the flower petals that littered the ground. He thinks about his mother and all of his relatives applauding wildly as they kissed. 

Eiji smiles bittersweetly to himself. 

Everyone has grown up quite a bit. Harumi's grown into a fine young woman and had gotten herself a nice boy to anchor her. His mother has aged, mellowed out. While Eiji…

Eiji was… _Eiji_. The same Eiji five years ago. Head in the clouds and refusing to go back down. As much as he wanted to go home, he knows he can't.

A warm kotatsu is all it takes for him to stay and never leave. It is their love that ensnares him, weighs him down.

There's still so much for him to do. He knows if he were to come home, there’d be a dead end waiting for him.

And so he lies again to keep his freedom.

He swallows hard and musters a toothy grin, snapping a selfie on his phone. 

> I'll be there soon.

He presses send.

vii.

It’s a lazy dinner to reward himself for his hard work. Egg sandwich á la Lawson and a tall glass of milk. The heater’s down in his complex so he's snuggled up under three layers of blankets and comforters on his sofa. He thinks about the photo sent to him and he decides it's maybe time to invest in a kotatsu. The fancy kind with the heater and all, and maybe some natto to feel more at home.

As he clicks through cable programs on his TV, he finishes the sandwich to the crust, licking the tips of his fingers as if it would sate the hollow feeling still in his stomach. He clutches his blankets close to his face and he groans. The things he'd do right now for some unagi over fresh, steaming rice…

He slaps his cheeks. No, he is _not_ going to think about it. About other food. About home. Not now, at least, when he's still got such opportunities waiting for him at the end of the tunnel.

Determinedly, he takes the glass of milk and chugs it down in one go, which he regrets immediately as waves of discomfort hit his tummy. He doubles over in pain, clamping his mouth shut with both hands in case his milk and sandwich decides to come back up. Hurriedly, he takes the glass to the kitchen sink and rinses it out, refilling it with New York tap. For as long as he had lived here, he still couldn't get over that dirty taste left on his tongue after drinking. He waits there over the sink, expecting an onslaught of white bile to come rushing out of his throat, jittering in his sweats.

_“—And we're back! We had Ash Lynx visit our studio earlier today to talk about his newest project after a three-year silence. Things get a bit spicy as we delve into his love life! Here’s the exclusive scoop.”_

Eiji swings his head back to look at the TV. He had to have misheard. It was just too much of coincidence with how his morning went. He wipes his milkstache away and feebly walks back to the couch whilst rubbing his stomach.

_“Now Ash, you were nineteen when we last spoke. What were you doing during your hiatus?”_

_“Ah well, y’know. After Banana Fish, things got a bit hectic. I needed a break from it all, so I took some modeling jobs here and there to, uh, support myself obviously.”_

He'd have turned off the TV just at the sound of the high-pitched voices and fake laughter of these superficial interviewers, the sight of their perfectly straight, gummed smiles, but Ash is there, legs eloquently crossed as he lounged on a canvas director’s chair. He's there, speaking in the same vernacular from that party. He's there, still glowing, still handsome and captivating in his slacks and plain white tee. (Though, amateur camerawork like this doesn't do him justice.)

Eiji backs up to the couch, groping for the remote control to turn the volume up.

_“That was your career-defining role. You won awards, famous directors sought after you for their films. You—You were a superstar! Why did you decide to disappear during such a crucial time of your life?”_

_“Been actin’ all my life and I got bored. Nothin’ much to it, honestly. I had decided to relax and smell the roses for once instead of holing myself up to get in character. Life’s nice when you take a step back.”_ The smirk he gives sends shivers down Eiji’s spine.

_“So, you took a vacation from acting. What made you decide to return?”_

_“Can't have all of America forgetting about me, now can I, Barb?”_

_“We could never forget about you!”_ They laugh, but Eiji knows by the dryness in his throat that he's acting. It almost seems he always is.

“ _See, I’m really picky when it comes to scripts. It's gotta be a really good, meaningful film for me to actually take up a role. Course, after Banana Fish, there was this like… influx of copycats. What I mean by that is edgy wannabe movies with similar themes, and I don't_ [censored] _with that kind of laziness and uncreativity. Part of my break was because I had been waiting patiently for the perfect script, and now I've found it.”_

_“Can you tell us more about this new project? What was it about the script of this film that captivated you?”_

_“My publicist is going to_ kill _me. I won't give away too much, I promise.”_ Ash waves at the camera, and Eiji’s heart implodes as he seemingly breaks the fourth wall and stares into his eyes. _“Well, I can tell you that the crew behind the movie’s an absolute dream team. It's a Max Lobo film with Sergei Varishikov on score, and I dunno if you're familiar with Shunichi Ibe’s work but he’s in charge of cinematography. He was behind the chilling atmosphere in Banana Fish, and I've become a huge fan ever since.”_

He malfunctions. Stops thinking completely. Loses all sense of self at the sleight mention of Ibe. 

What?

Ibe-san was…? 

_“Those are some big names, Ash!”_

_“Yeah. Hard to stay humble when you're working with such passionate people.”_

Eiji fumbles through the cushions of the sofa, hands raking over crumbs and loose change to find his phone. When he finds it isn't there, he jangles each of his blankets, hearing a soft _thud_ hit his shag rug. He curses under his breath and picks it up immediately, thumbs going off like a rapid fire as he hastily shot a text to his mentor.

> Yuorewokeigj on a new movie?
> 
> Wity Ash Lynx????? 

He watches his phone antsily as Ibe types back, shaking as the interview echoed in his ears.

_“We've got some fan questions if you don't mind us asking.”_

_“Go for it.”_

_“Rumor has it you’ve been seeing former co-star Shorter Wong—”_

_“Rumor's wrong.”_

_“Wrong?”_

_“Wrong. Just friends.”_

_“So during this break, you're telling me you hadn't dated at all?”_

_“I_ have, _just not with Shorter,”_ he clarifies.

 _“Who's the lucky_ person?” The interviewer sits on the end of her seat with interest, lifting a brow up at this headline-worthy topic.

 _“Secret.”_ He winks and presses a finger to his plush lips.

vii. (part 2)

> [...]
> 
> Surprise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xmas break has finally blessed me. hopefully i can use this time to write more fnonfoerjfno. thank you all for the support for the previous chapter, and thank you for reading!!! ♡ ♡


	3. ready, able

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> banana fish, coffee, and a name

* * *

_five years cast once and far alone._

_hope i'm ready, able to make my own_

_goodbye._

\- [grizzly bear](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Puph1hejMQE)

* * *

viii.

He doesn't sleep that night. Doesn’t sleep the nights after. Instead, he watches movies.

Eiji studies and learns, weaving them into the fibers in his body. He tattoos the techniques of his predecessors into his mind and soaks the ink up like a sponge: the vitality of angles, how light affects ambience, how a color is a character of its own.

With a mastery of all three, you get the perfect scene, the perfect movie. You get Banana Fish.

He must've viewed it at least three times now; took in all of its bloodshed, its horror, its humanity, its cruel realism, and yet he still feels goosebumps. The opening shot alone made him watch between the spaces of his fingers, watch with rapid pumping of his heart.

The camera follows a hooded figure in a dark, rat-infested alleyway, streetlights flickering overhead. It's carefully crafted with puddles audibly splashing with each step in the background and the neon motif of the film. It pans over to the character’s hand, knuckles bruised and scarred and calloused and gripping hard onto a Smith & Wesson revolver wrapped in bloody bandages. As the character stalks closer to the end of the alleyway, a wounded man comes into the frame, clutching at his chest to stop the bleeding of a presumed gunshot. He rests onto the brick siding of a store, pleading for his life, begging growing louder and louder as the gunman neared, like a predator cornering his prey.

Impeccable, Eiji admires. Absolutely impeccable storytelling through Ibe’s camerawork. Not once had the lens of the camera moved away from that gun. It follows shakily as it is aimed at the wounded man; follows from the press of the trigger to the barrel at his forehead. That dreadful feeling full of anxiety and suspense is all there as it zooms out for the audience. Every vein on the man’s forehead is pronounced, every drop of sweat, and the drool coming down his chin is captured so intimately as he begged for his life to be spared. It's almost a state of delirium as his words become slurred through the tears, as he tries to grope at the remaining embers of life. Eiji sympathizes for him even though he knows the outcome.

The gunfire silences his murmurs and rings into the empty night, blood and brain matter splattering on the wall behind him, shedding color into the dark, monochromatic metropolis. The camera traces from the cocked gun to his arm, and eventually up his torso to reveal the identity of the shooter. What the audience expects him to be is a hardened, grizzly killer with the information from his experienced hand alone, but no. It's a handsome fresh-faced teenager with jade eyes flickering in the obscurity like a flame— the complete opposite of the expectation. The angle in which he's captured in is from the dead man’s, looking up as the wrinkles on the teen’s face softens, like a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders. His face is casted darkly by shadows as he sighs, breath steady and jaw clenched tightly. It is not his first kill. There is no sign of fear there on his face, of malice or hatred. It's an indescribable exhaustion Eiji simply cannot put into words.

And the title card appears boldly in yellow as Ash’s character disappears into the slums.

Eiji pauses and reflects on the performance. Not even five minutes had elapsed and Ash had already established the themes of this movie and his talent as an actor. Every movement, every inflection in voice, every emotion— he didn't even need _words_ to convey what he was trying to evoke. Ash was nothing short of a prodigy at age eighteen.

Eighteen.

Now, what had Eiji accomplished when he was eighteen? There’s a burn in his leg as he tries to remember. Flashes of ripped scholarships cut through his mind, of casts and crutches and pitiful smiles and gestures.

He shuts his laptop screen before the memories could resurface completely.

ix.

His breathing is ragged, lungs burning, calves numb as he entangles himself with the sidewalk traffic. It's cold out but he's feverish in his running shorts, fueled only by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He's way past his prime, moving much slower than before. What would've taken five minutes takes him nine, but he knows the distance, the pain is what it means to grow. A rush is still a rush.

Eiji stops at a pedestrian crossing and jogs in place, keeping that high up until the red hand across the street disappears. There, Ash still sits on his wooden throne. Smug, confident, beautiful. A deadly combination that marked a man of high society and accomplishment. Eiji wonders what he’s thinking, this Ash that observed him from above. What does he think of his form? His pace? Are his running shorts too short? Does it look like he gained a few pounds?

He laughs off these strange musings.

The real Ash wouldn’t be this much of a critic. Eiji _is_ Eiji. There was nothing that particularly stuck out about him: his hair was as dark as his eyes, his clothes neat and ironed, and he spoke softly, always soft. Normal— he’s normal. He was sure Ash wouldn’t pay him any mind, let alone even bat an eyelash at him.

 _Eiji Okumura_. Ay-jee Awk-uh-moo-ruh. (The way Ash said it is funny.) His name, given to him by his mother on a bright May morning next to the sound of cicadas and the breeze; a name that ensured greatness— had probably eroded from his mind by now. All six of those syllables entered his mouth and were swallowed and digested. Eiji’s been long forgotten.

The red hand switches to the white walking man and Eiji resumes his sprint, running forward and away from the Temporary King of Fifth Avenue.

x.

> I’ve got an assignment for you.

An assignment, Ibe says. Almost makes him sound like a _spy_. 

Eiji sneers at the text, drying his ears with the towel around his neck as he thinks of something snappy to reply with.

> What’s the mission sir?
> 
> Am I undercover?

Satisfied, he slips his phone into his back pocket and slinks into the kitchen, opening the fridge and letting it chill the hot steam felt on his skin. He repeats this motion of open and close, open and close, until he settles on drinking a cold bottled water. He twists the cap open and is startled by the rapid fire of vibrations from Ibe’s texts on his rear.

> Very important
> 
> Come to the apt asap. Door unlocked
> 
> Bring black coffee.
> 
> Thanks

He raises a brow.

> U hate black??

Black coffee kind of day. His mind races with terrible thoughts.

This could only mean one of a few things. Either Ibe’s in a rut with his work or he’s dealing with some angry, unreasonable colleagues. How is he standing his ground? If it’s the latter, Lord only knows how many times the man must’ve bent down and bowed as he apologized. Might’ve even given him scoliosis.

“What to do, what to do?” Eiji mumbles to himself as he circles around his kitchen, biting his nails. He thinks of imaginary scenarios, of how to respond politely to scary Americans with one hundred decibel voices.

Smile, nod, apologize. It was best not to prod at a wounded beast.

With this, he steels himself and chugs the rest of his water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A snare drum beat reverberates in the confines of his skull, tempo matching the hard beating of his chest. Hurriedly, he tosses his towel onto the granite counter and grabs his keys and makes way for the door. His armor for battle today is jean on jean and he works it like a superhero, draping the jacket over his shoulders.

With his chin up, he opens the door and welcomes the warmth, basking in the sunlight spilling in from those big, big windows, painting him gold.

“Hang in there,” he prays. “Ei-chan is coming.” 

x. (part 2)

The elevator going up to Ibe’s modest penthouse (quite the oxymoron, Eiji comes to realize, as he envisions it in all of its minimalist grandeur) is nerve-wracking. He can see all of New York perfectly as he’s launched higher and higher up, taxis and people transforming into tiny ants in a matter of seconds. The trenta espresso he ordered with “Benji” scrawled hastily across is already lukewarm in his hand by the time he makes it to the top floor and he takes it as a bad omen. Is he too late? Has the damage been done?

The elevator comes to a halt and slides open to Ibe’s door. Eiji nervously reaches for the handle but quickly retracts it back to his side almost on reflex. He imagines of Ibe’s body metaphorically sprawled onto plastic, unmoving and losing temperature. Dead, because he didn’t get his damned coffee in time to withstand his feud. Dead, because he didn’t have the creative juices he needed to work.

He shivers at the imagery, but doesn’t back down.

Cue the eerie orchestral music and dark shadows. Eiji is the star of the feature horror film projecting in his brain.

“Ibe-san?” He calls out in a weak voice as he crept cautiously inside. The place is so big that he swears he hears his own voice greeting him back. He slips out of his boots and closes and locks the door behind him, taking note that there had been no yelling upon entering and all the lights were all off. That scratches demonic directors off the list.

It’s the hazy, warm kind of afternoon-night sky out there, and Eiji finally lets his guard down. Oranges and purples smear across the expanse of his blank abode, reflecting the calm outside his empire. It’s almost as if he had entered another dimension, into a portal, out of the griminess from below and launched up into the elite class. The textbook definition of heaven was here in Manhattan, in this monotonous penthouse that towered over the city. Windows for walls, leather everything, auctioned Banksy’s and Warhols and Donwood prints, photography paraphernalia; all were imprints of Ibe’s success.

He plays pretend, that this is his home. He’s got Oscar-winning movies under his belt and instead of the coffee in his hand, it’s Sangiovese swirling in a tall, long-necked glass. He’s accomplished, living contently with his mother and Harumi— Hell, even that fellow, Takashi— under the same roof; one big happy family that’d been absent these past few years. The sunrise and sunset are there at his disposal, what he sees waking and before he slumbers— a constant that never wears away with time. At this point, the stars are an aunt and uncle to him, connecting him to Japan, miles and miles away. These stars are what thread them together, what they all look up to, what he looks up to for strength and guidance.

They’re going to break soon, those astrals, to remind him another day has gone by. He twirls closer to them, puts a little step, jives. The apricot and saffrons color his brown eyes a thick honey and he’s entranced.

Ash is up there, and so’s Ibe. When will he have a spot of his own?

He blinks, once, twice, and his fingers tingle, face burns. The red crawls up gradually up his neck, to his cheeks and ears and he feels like he’s a part of the fire that outlines the ridge of the cityscape.

“Hey.” Hot air dances sung around him and whispers in his ears and the hairs on his neck stand on end as silence surrounds him once more.

x. (part 3)

A seraph, here in the flesh. Pale hair and even paler skin. Eiji’s forced to shield his eyes with an arm at the sheer brightness from the light radiating from him

“Shunichi said that he'd have his assistant come and do some tests and I'm guessing that’s you?” He's late to process that chorus of “heys” that had begun to harmonize around him. 

“This is all news to me.” Seeing _you_ at arms-length is news. You, towering over, cologne overtaking his senses is news.

His legs are jelly at this point and he has to lean on the glass of the window for support, the fear of it shattering and his body free-falling not even once crossing his mind. 

“We've gotta make this quick. Sorry to rush you, but I've been waiting here for like, a few hours and I've got an interview scheduled for nine.”

“I— Huh?” Too fast. This was all happening much too fast. His head’s spinning with delirium from bits of information crashing onto him like a fifty-foot wave. Eiji squints his eyes to make sure he's not hallucinating, pressing the cooling espresso on his cheek to confirm that, yes, he was awake and that yes, this was real.

Ash Lynx is in front of him. Not as he was before, or on the billboard, or the star of Banana Fish, but as himself. Dressed down, face bare. Young eyes brimming with ambition, caring and uncaring all at once; slouched and unkempt in his baggy groutfit. He’s a normal young man, normal, normal, _normal_ — But oh _wow_ , did he always have freckles? Were his eyes always this piercing? His lips that red?

“We can do this another time if you want?” offers Ash considerately, reading the situation almost immediately. 

Breathe, Eiji. Breathe. Take a step back and remember your center of gravity. Feel your two feet on the floor, your chest pumping, the lump in your throat. Find your words, your courage. This is your break, your chance to prove yourself and step out from the shadows. Ibe’s shadow.

“It’s fine,” he announces, his own voice sounding foreign to him. “Let’s begin.”

Begin, but where? Eiji is standing right there, yet he couldn’t find where he was, couldn’t move with Ash’s gaze shackling him there against the window. There was much to do: the equipment, debriefing on the atmosphere of Ash’s film, lighting— not to mention they were confined here in Ibe’s home given the time constraint. He bites his lip as he ruminates on his options, jittering as he let the nerves eat at his flesh and reduce him into a pile.

“Then let’s start here.” Ash cups his hand over his own, staring at him behind thick, flaxen lashes, studying him, learning him. “You’re shaking. Are you nervous?”

He watches the dust floating behind Ash settle at their socked feet, transforming into heaps of sparkles. They augment Ash, making him seem all the more ethereal, fleeting. Eiji’s bewitched, no longer shivering but melting in Ash’s hold, allowing himself to be putty in his palm.

“Ibe has never left me alone like this,” he tells him shakily, grinning at his own incompetence. “It is hard, being his student and all. Sometimes I am not sure if I can truly live up to his name.”

“Took of the training wheels, huh? I get it.” Why isn’t he letting go? Why is he being kind? “It’s just a camera test, no worries. It’s okay to mess up. Not like it’s the real deal.” He smiles. “You can relax around me, Eiji. You’ll be fine.”

His name— he remembered. Those tiny, insignificant two syllables from a backwater town halfway across the world. A name that once rang pridefully throughout his country, silenced all in the blink of an eye. Eiji, a name befalling Ash’s lips once more, daring him to hope again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this chapter so long ago ahhh i just wanted to get it out there so i can continue on updating this fic again.
> 
> i purposely made eiji timid so he has more room to grow as the story progresses and ash nicer because at this point they're still strangers!!! but more interaction next chapter to solidify their character ahiweufi.
> 
> twitter: @selfetish :-)


	4. yam yam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> impressions, masks, and embarrassment

* * *

_staring at a distance, this warmth is hard to find.  
sitting in the silence, i gave my best; i tried.  
simply a distraction i didn't hope to find.  
sitting by my side, i hope you're here to stay._

_-[no vacation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6YkDRQPsBU)_

* * *

xi.

Night settles in the sky early in the winter. By now, indigo had washed over the vast blueness above, the Sun dispersing herself into sparkling, bite-sized lights— into her children that would come out to play and dance for their huge audience down below. There’s a lot of things Eiji doesn’t know about this project he had clumsily fumbled into. He wonders if artificial light is okay. If this setting is okay. If it’s okay for a rookie like him to be in charge for the meantime—

“I can see the gears turnin’ in that little head of yours. Good for you,” Ash snides, laying back and kicking his chunky sneakers onto the cushion. Eiji cringes at the action, envisioning an enraged Ibe raving about loose dirt on his furniture.

“I am trying, but there are things that I need to know so I can come up with coherent footage,” explains Eiji, glaring through narrowed eyes as the actor taps away at his phone and laughs at the screen. “Ash?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Whaddya need to know?” Ash replies in an uninterested tone, not budging from whatever or whomever he was texting. Eiji puffs his cheeks and crosses his arms, staring at the patches on his socks to contain his impatience. He could at least _pretend_ to care.

“Your movie. Give me something to work with. Please.”

Ash tears away for a moment, leading Eiji to believe he sparked even the tiniest flame of passion in him, before doing the same thing over again.

“It’s kinda confidential. Gonna have to sign an NDA.” Eiji pouts and all of the magic from before disappears. The sparkles turn into dust, and the gold of his hair dulls into lackluster thread. The rose-tinted shades had been snatched away from his eyes in record speed. He doesn’t see an award-winning actor or a model. No, he sees a blond, male version of Harumi. He’s got the same, lazy posture as her whenever she came to his room to annoy him, sitting on his bed and crunching on her potato chips a little _too_ loudly. He’s got the same rude demeanor whenever she was too engrossed in something to quit.

The realization hits him. Hard. It irks Eiji more than he would’ve liked.

He shoots up to his feet with clenched fists, Ash still absorbed by the entrancing glow of his screen. The countless practices during middle and high school may have led up to this very moment as he crept in quick, silent steps.

He pounces.

“What the fuck—” He snatches the wretched device and pushes a hand on his chest, keeping Ash from grabbing it back. Eiji smirks victoriously, deciding to snoop on whatever was more important than this camera test.

His eyes are immediately drawn to a text bubble, a photo. The hem of his hoodie is hiked up, revealing the ridges of his torso and the waistband of his Calvins. Eiji was _so_ ready to embarrass him, read aloud whatever humiliating texts he’d sent, but in the end it backfired— _he_ was the one who felt absolute shame. Eiji curses in his native tongue and locks the phone, pocketing it in his rear.

That’s what they call _sexting,_ right? He scrunches his nose and feels himself turn red all over, trying to erase that image of Ash from his mind.The photo wasn’t even sent to him and Eiji felt so hot and bothered by it. Through the steam, he glances at Ash from the side, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing his defeat.

“That wasn’t for you, you know,” Ash tells him cheekily, elbows propped on the cushion as he tilts his head to the side to meet Eiji. He clenches the fabric at his chest as he casts his gaze down, letting the dark shadows conceal his bashfulness.

“I know.”

“Rude of you to snatch other people’s things.” Ash clicks his tongue and shakes his head in faux disappointment.

“What? No! I mean—” His knuckles are white as he channels all of his energy in clenching at his chest to prevent himself from smacking all the Hollywood charm out of him. “I-I wasn’t…” _Now’s not the time to lose face! Tell him what’s on your mind!_ Eiji furrows his brows and frowns, pulling a hard expression to clash with Ash’s amused one. “Rude of _you_ to not cooperate with me. Do you want to do this with me or not?” His heart hammers his sternum, feeling it shatter and collapse in his belly as Ash has the _audacity_ to chuckle at his efforts. “What is so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he waves off, still recovering from his little fit. “Just poking at you. No need for that sour face. Kid like you will get wrinkles if you keep that up.”

“I’m older than you,” Eiji scoffs, now crossing his arms and tilting his chin up in a matter-of-factly way. “Twenty-four, so you better treat me with respect, Mister Pretty Boy,” he jabs a finger at his chest. “This won’t be the last time you see and work with me.”

“ _Pretty Boy?”_ He was enjoying this a little _too_ much. “You hittin’ on me?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Eiji gets up immediately and sits at the armrest at Ash's feet, making sure to take his phone out so it wouldn't get crushed under the weight of his butt. (And of course, to not pay a debt later to Mister Pretty Boy himself as he was already swimming in rent payments.) “Feel better now?”

“Y’know, that's not what I meant when I said—”

He points the phone at him. “You get this back when we're done.”

Ash sighs, resting his arm over his eyes and biting his lip. Eiji tilts his head to the side, confused by the exhaustion he displayed from doing absolutely nothing. “Forget I said anything. Let's… Let's get this show on the road.” 

xi. (part 2)

“Well? Shoot.”

“I, um…” Eiji’s too concentrated by the flicking of his lighter to really register his voice, too concentrated by his good conscience and thoughts of confiscating the death at his jaws right then and there.

“Shunichi lets me smoke in here. No biggie.” He flips the cap of the lighter again and sets it ablaze, taking a long drag and sucking its chemicals into his muscles. Ash lets the ashes rest there at the end, as if making it a job to keep the buildup balanced as long as he could. Eiji watches carefully and with bated breath, praying it doesn't fall and scatter, and that he doesn’t do the same. Ash takes note of his onlooker and places the butt in his fingers, puffing out a miasma directly at his face. “Wanna try?”

“It's disgusting,” says Eiji indignantly, wafting away the smoke that had begun to cloud his view. To think, this was the same young man from that night under the stars. His accolades and good looks and soft voice and talent must’ve made him formulate something much bigger than he actually is (which is a certified brat). “I hate the smell of smoke,” he murmurs, cowering over in his chair to hide the discomfort on his face as he’s reminded of home once more.

“Huh?”

“I hate the smell of smoke,” Eiji repeats in a louder tone. “And I hate how it clings to everything it touches,” grumbles Eiji as he furiously wipes at one of the lenses of Ibe’s many Canons.

“You and everybody’s mother,” he quips sarcastically, disappearing in his man-made fog. “Gonna tell me how it’s bad for me? Of course you are.”

“Not anymore, since you seem to not take anything seriously,” huffs Eiji, testing the camera and looking through the eyepiece at Ash’s reaction. The ash falls at his chest. “It’s your life, and you’ve taken the short route. Never too late to turn things around. You’re still young.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’ve gotta die a little to live, old man. A cigarette or two won’t kill me.” Ash winks, laying on his side now. “I’m Ash fucking Lynx.”

“You’re real tough now. Wait until you’re coughing tar and living with a hole in your throat, ‘Ash fucking Lynx,’” warns Eiji, wagging a finger at him. Ash throws his head back in convulsions, clutching his stomach. Eiji sits back in the lounge to stare daggers, feeling his patience wither away with each passing second. He wants to pull him in a chokehold, mess his silky hair up with his fist until he begs to be released. That’ll show him! 

“Now, that… That’s some imagery!”

“It's true!” Eiji cries, clearing his throat to calm the sudden outburst. “An exaggeration, yes, but you get the idea. My father, back home, he…” He bites his lip, hands stopping for a moment as he found himself lost in a jittery gray memory of white gowns, heart monitors and perpetual static. Lilies, and roses, and daisies— all dulled upon entering those gates of death. Beyond it laid the sorry shell of a man, once so full of life, wasted away in a bed as he counted down to the last of his days. He was skin stretched over bones, not quite dead and not quite alive. Eiji remembers how his hand felt in his own: cold and small, how the hot tears from his eyes steamed upon contact. 

“Eiji?” Eiji snaps his eyes up from his lap, facing a concerned Ash who had sat up and put his cigarette out on the glass table that separated them. It's the silent understanding that isolates Eiji from Ash in the room. 

“Nevermind. We've got work to do, don't we?” Ash nods with uncertainty, head tracing as Eiji begins to pace around the living room in an effort to calm himself down. “So, Ash. References, characters, atmosphere. Throw some words around and I'll figure something out.”

“Uh-huh…” Ash drones, drawing the vowel out. He stops in his tracks, tapping his toe against wood anxiously as he faces his subject with an accusive frown.

Eiji wasn't an actor, unlike him. He expressed himself freely, wore his heart on his sleeve. To Ash, he was probably an open book. One clumsy slip of his tongue and he knew his life story, all of his insecurities and all of his heartache. It was only natural a savant who specializes in human emotion could detect the inflections in his voice and the abruptness of his mannerisms and immediately know what’s on his mind. Even knowing this, he despises that look on Ash’s face, of pity and charity. Recently, it's all he ever sees from anyone. It's almost as if he had stripped himself bare without any coaxing needed; there in his truest form, scars laid out for him to judge and absorb.

“What?” Eiji blurts out, hugging himself consciously. He expects him to perform the faux pas of expressing fake worry, asking him if he’s alright. It makes him sick. Eiji glances at the chandelier above them and sighs.

“You ever watch a Safdie film?” questions Ash. Confused, the filmmaker unravels from his tense posture. Ash continues as if nothing ever happened. “Kind of like that. Gritty, but emotional. Funny when it wants to be. Grounded and true to life. Do you want me to tell you more?”

“Ash…”

“It’s set here in New York, starring a broke, drug-addicted college burnout. That’s me.” He motions to himself. “I’m slowly becoming the posterboy for that kinda stuff nowadays.” A corner of Eiji’s lip quirks up in agreement. Ash hums, face tinged with a bit of color now that he managed to melt some of the ice.

“ _Influx of copycats_ ,” Eiji quotes, remembering his interview from the other night. He settles down at the other end of the sofa beside Ash, sitting politely with his hand on his knees and his face forward.. “What made you want to fit into that mold again? Thought you were picky with your script.”

“Are you a fan of mine?” teases Ash, nudging him slightly with his elbow.

“Don’t get full of yourself. You were on TV while I was eating dinner,” counters Eiji sheepishly, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear. 

“Since you’re _dying_ to know, it isn’t as bleak as you’re probably making it out to be. I’d like to think it’s an ubiquitous story— I mean, people struggle with addiction all the time. Doesn’t even have to be drugs. It just so happens that this snippet of life’s on script—Oh God, I must be boring you. Want me to stop?”

“No, no. This is a great help,” Eiji insists, listening attentively.

“Well, anyways, I hate being philosophical and shit but this story is a hopeful one, to me at least. Like, the point of being an addict is always chasing after that unattainable high, right? But there’s always that one thing, that one _person_ to ground you, to make you want to do better. _Be_ better.” Eiji nods for him to go on. “That’s the point of this film. The relationship between that person and the addict. I should really stop here since I’m giving away too much, but there’s this really cute kid they casted as my co-star. Super talented and humble. His name’s Skipper— he lets me call him Skip, and—”

It’s hard to pinpoint who exactly Ash Lynx is at that moment. In this short time, he’s seen so many angles. A happy-go-lucky young man on screen, unfiltered and charming. An insufferable little snot who’s mature when he wants to be. A man who is kind, who can read a situation and be considerate to another’s fragile heart. He could not be defined with one trait, and it enthralled Eiji. Maybe it’s all an act, a facade, but something in him wants to learn more, uncover which of these Ashes is really him.

“You’re full of so many surprises, aren’t you?” Eiji comments absentmindedly. He smiles at him, pleased to have leant him an ear. Noticing his sudden silence, Eiji scoots closer to check on him. “Sorry, did I cut you off?”

“This is the first time,” Ash starts, scratching his cheek coyly, letting his long bangs cast over his face. “This is the first time you smiled all night.”

xii.

He decides to shut off all of the lights and film him in the dark. Streaks of color from the traffic down below highlight his figure. For once, Eiji trusts his judgement, knowing the fad of having pretty neon lights color the setting as a cyberpunk wonderland.

“Can you see me okay?” 

“Yeah. Act natural. Let the city do its thing,” Eiji instructs, placing the camera above from him in a perfectly clear shot of him slouching, arm over his belly and fingers pinched around a newly lit cigarette. To his left, the coffee table is littered with butts that he had him burn beforehand, giving the audience an impression of the protagonist’s stress and vices. (He decides his excuse to Ibe later on is for his “art.”)

“And the smoke? How you holdin’ up?” Ash queries worriedly, catching Eiji off guard.

“Breathing through my mouth,” Eiji jokes. His legs are cramping, considering the awkward position he put himself in with one leg knelt on the sofa on one side of Ash’s thigh and the other stretched flat against the shag carpet. “Can’t deny the visual effects it has though. So much mystery and tension. You’re lucky I’d destroy my own lungs for a good product.”

“Lucky me.” 

Eiji hops on his outstretched leg to prevent himself from slipping.

“Kind of telling that I’m a novice, huh?”

“Maybe try a different spot? So you’re not doing splits and other gymnastics on me…” Ash takes a drag and turns his head to the side to exhale. “And stuff.”

“‘And stuff?’ What do you suggest? I like how this is captured though,” Eiji pouts, tilting his head to the side.

“‘S alright with me, if you do what you did earlier. I wouldn’t mind,” mumbles Ash unclearly, hiding from him again. Eiji plays this little game and searches for him under the flaxen hair shielding his striking eyes from view.

“Hm?” Eiji hums, and allows a few seconds to elapse for him to follow up, still puzzled by his suggestions.

“Don’t make me spell it out for you,” he grumbles. Not a muscle moves on Eiji’s face as he tries to connect these dots together, eventually coming back to square one with no idea whatsoever as to what he was hinting at. Everything is in still life as Ash buries himself deeper and deeper in the crevice of his elbow, frazzled for reasons he didn’t know. “Make yourself comfortable and _sit._ ”

“There’s no room to—”

“On _me,_ dummy.” Everything in Eiji flares up.

“Ah.” And he leaves his word just as that— a word that hangs between them for a few uncomfortable moments. He holds the camera a bit closer to his face, letting the clunky device cover the trembling of his lip from Ash.

“Well? Go on before I change my mind and turn into a goddamn diva,” Ash goads. Eiji swallows thickly and swings his leg over Ash, straddling him as he did before a little above his knees.

“Is this okay?”

“You're pretty light. I'll live.” Harking back to his morning jog, he feels relief when he has his image validated by Ash himself, that he hasn’t lost _all_ of his form from his golden days. On this point, he _supposes_ Ash is alright.

“You know your character better than anyone else. Exhaustion. Hopelessness. Aimlessness—”

“I know how to do my job, thanks,” Ash hisses, rolling his eyes. “Can I take this thing off before you start? I’m sweating,” asks Ash, referring to his hoodie.

“Sure.” Ash shrugs off each sleeve carefully as to not burn holes into the fabric with his cigarette. He feels his weight shifting beneath him, the slight roll of his hip as he wiggles free. Each tiny pull of his muscle, his every motion translates to his own body like small ripples that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. They’re tiny electrical currents, igniting something that lay dormant within him. Eiji gulps the lump in his throat and doesn't budge an inch so as to not spur any unnecessary sensations out of the both of them for his own sanity.

“Better?”

“Rock and roll.”

xii. (part 2)

Through the lens was a completely different person. The way the shadows fill the crevices under his eyes and carve out negative space where his arm met his torso was a shot Eiji felt needed no further editing. He was raw in his acting, in the subtle contortions in his face, that it frightened him.. 

Wrinkles were bunched between his brows, eyes glassy, lips trembling as though he could sob at any given moment. There’s a part of Eiji that believes this is him, this is Ash, unmasked and stripped down, melancholic at heart. He wonders what he’s thinking about right now, about what could’ve possibly made him pull such a face.

He wants to reach out to him for some reason, touch him, let him melt there beneath his palms. But he holds back and helplessly watches as the moonlight moves across his body in cycles as clouds crawl past it. Silently, he empathizes.

It was as though he was looking at his own reflection.

xiii.

“We walkin’ out together?” Ash suggests, shrugging his hoodie back on. He takes his phone back from Eiji with a beam, plopping back onto the couch to check on the notifications on his lockscreen.

“Sure, after you help me pack the equipment up.”

“So, no.”

“ _Yes_. If you work as hard as you did earlier, we’ll get this done in a flash.”

“Acting and chores are two completely different things,” groans Ash, pulling his hood over his disheveled hair and pulling the strings until only his eyes are visible.

“You can _act_ like you enjoy cleaning,” Eiji suggests cheekily, rewarded with an exasperated sigh from Ash. “You’re quite talented, doing everything in one take. You had me fooled. I was dangerously close to consoling you,” he tells him, busying himself with folding the legs of the studio lights and stuffing them back in their black duffle bags.

“Is that right?” 

Eiji hums.

“You looked like a kicked puppy that needed a good pat on the head. Or rub on the belly,” jokes Eiji, laughing at his own words. He turns back around, expecting him to revel in his little analogy, only to see him pulling the strings so his whole face was covered, tying a tight knot to keep it that way. “I was kidding.”

“I know, it’s just…” he coughs. “Wasn’t prepared for it. I guess Japanese people have a different sense of humor.”

“I am not… funny?”

“You’re _weird_.”

“Weird.”

“—A good weird, if y’know what I mean.”

“I see.” (He doesn’t.)

“I thought you were teasing me again,” explains Ash further, deciding to poke out of the confines of his hood and look at him properly. His face is as red as a cherry tomato.

“Sorry,” Eiji apologizes (though he’s still a little confused on what for). 

“Yeesh, I’m a big boy. Few words won't hurt me.” Ash bends down to the coffee table, hesitantly sweeping the remnants into his hands. “Crying one moment and joking the next. I just don’t know it with you,” he whispers.

Eiji blushes at the allusion, stopping in his tracks as it was now his turn to act embarrassed.

“You remember? About _that_?” raises Eiji meekly, letting the midnight memories flood back to him in a jittery film.

“Well, yeah. How could I forget?” And just like that, he’s submerged in a boiling pot, scalding his skin, drowning him in heat. Ash is the one keeping his head in place, making sure that he cannot come up for air; that he ceases to breathe.

“Kill me.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi hello how are ya?
> 
> i wrote this so long ago ahhh i just added some embellishments,,,,,,,,,, and as per usual i present you this,,,,,,,,,,,, will edit later ahhhfhghd
> 
> i've been thinking of rewriting this fic so if it happens to disappear one day you know what's going on,,
> 
> thank you for reading and sticking around!!!!!!!!! stay safe!! much love


	5. candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> country boys, paparazzi, and a revelation

* * *

_well i have brittle bones it seems._   
_i bite my tongue and i torch my dreams._   
_have a little voice to speak with_   
_and a mind of thoughts and secrecy._

[\- daughter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BML8W2YsVAs)

* * *

xiii. (part 2)

The elevator ride down is, simply put, awkward.

They stand on opposite ends, facing the city through the plexiglass window, refusing to look at each other’s reflection. Ash checks his phone every few minutes while Eiji thinks of something, _anything_ to talk about.

“Hey uh…” _Great start, loser_. Eiji forgets what he wants to say immediately because _shit_ , all he can think about is how embarrassing it was for Ash to bluntly point out that miserable night months ago at the Hamptons. It takes all of his strength not to slam his head against the glass and end the cringey montage once and for all.

“Huh?” He didn’t actually think he’d respond to him, let alone, look up from his phone. Eiji feels himself sweating and descending into a whirlwind of doubt.

“Thanks. For giving me a chance,” Eiji mumbles, scratching the hair at the nape of his neck to detract the attention away from his face. Try as he might to be even a _fraction_ as nonchalant and mysterious as Ash, it only made him sound absolutely _mousey._ Though, he means it sincerely— Ash was real kind to let him be a part of this new project of his, no matter how insignificant it is in the long run. 

“Yeah.” That’s all he had to say to that? Seriously? 

Eiji sneaks a glance at him and he isn’t surprised to see that he’s already cut the conversation short by preoccupying himself with social media. Call him a _carpe diem_ kind of guy, but Eiji never understood the appeal. Sure, he had a page on Instagram for his work, a website to answer queries for clients, but yeesh, to be so absorbed in tiny, flashing pixels was such a strange phenomenon to him. Life is meant to be explored in person. People are meant to come and go.

Then again, Ash was popular— world-famous.

Isn’t he just so cool? Having model friends to hang out with? Talking late at night with some bigger-ups from high up in a villa about contracts in his silk pajamas? Smoking cigarettes like he's living some Tarantino film? 

Okay, okay, he was being a _little_ harsh. Eiji knew he had this bad habit of basing people off by their first impressions. Being at Ibe’s alone with Ash made him believe he was a bit on the spoiled side and it clouded the other traits he had displayed. He was definitely talented for one, passionate and… Considerate? (If allowing someone to sit on you can be called that.) But nothing could overshadow his sarcastic nature and snarkiness. 

Ash under moonlight must’ve been some kind of fever dream, a hallucination. He was like Prince Charming there, but now it was like the masquerade had fallen and shattered into smithereens, revealing a snarling gremlin foaming at the mouth.

Eiji smacks his fist into his palm, coming to a revelation.

“Gemini.”

“What?” 

“I was just thinking about…” Eiji twiddles with his thumbs, choosing a lie to blurt out. What should he go with? A made-up memory? A friend? Family? He fills the space in with his stuttering, trying to cloak the hard badum-dum-dum of his heart in his eardrums.

“August 12,” Ash tells him, saving him from all— rather, more of— the discomfort. “Well, do the moons align? Are we compatible?” he asks with a degree of ridicule. ( _S_ _o this little brat_ ’s _a Leo—)_

“Just presumed you were a Gemini, considering how two-faced you are and all,” Eiji snaps back, puffing his cheeks up proudly at his insult. Ash laughs again— seriously, he thinks _everything_ he says is a joke!— and takes a step toward him, and then another, and another until he’s occupying his personal space. Eiji’s tempted to move against the wall to prevent breathing the same air as this doofus, but he decides to keep his ground and fight this petty battle.

“Wouldn’t know. I don’t keep up with that stupid space shit,” he sighs, drinking in the indignation written all over Eiji’s face. “Letting the stars and planets define and dictate my life? Frankly, it’s not my kinda scene.”

“Are you implying I do that?” challenges Eiji with a smirk.

“Are you assuming I think you do?”

“Well, if that's what you _are_ thinking, you aren't entirely wrong. See, the stars where I’m from shine much brighter than here, so I know a thing or two about them. Everything's transparent, like you're living in a snowglobe!” Eiji recalls giddily, pressing his hands against the glass to look at the skyline fully. For a moment, he feels like a boy again laying in a field with Harumi, bug-bitten as they connect stars with their fingers. It was only natural Eiji ate up useless facts and myths when his entire world was in that rural town with nothing to offer. “Even a city boy like you would like it there.”

“City boy?”

“You're in a city. You're a boy.”

“That makes you one too, doesn’t it?”

“I go a lot of places, but my heart stays in Izumo,” answers Eiji simply with a smile.

“Ditto _Izumo._ ” His accent is endearingly exaggerated, but Eiji can appreciate his attempt. “Was born and raised in Cape Cod, thank you very much.” 

“Oh, so you're from the country too?”

“That's right. You hate to see it,” snides Ash, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ _Eh?_ Can't imagine you with a cowboy hat and lasso at all.”

“You geek. It’s by the sea!” 

Glitzy and elegant Ash Lynx, bare feet buried in the sand, feeling the waves creep up to his ankles and recede back into the ocean. Beautiful and untouchable Ash Lynx, sunburnt and sweaty, one hand grasping a wooden fishing pole and an ice-cold beer in the other— What a sight that would be to behold! 

And for once, they share a laugh, doubling over until their sides split. Eiji forgets who Ash is and enjoys his company, the sound of his voice and how soft it got whenever he found something humorous. This isn’t so bad, Eiji thinks to himself. He isn’t so bad to be around.

“Good that we’ve found some common ground! Fishing experts, you and I!”

“I wouldn’t say expert…”

“You’re just being humble! We’re fishing buddies now!” Eiji exclaims, tilting his head in Ash’s direction. Ash, taken aback, looks the other way and huffs, subsiding once more as if he has had enough social interaction for the day. “Well, when you’re being nice we can be buddies.”

“You have _got_ to be the strangest person I’ve ever met,” comments Ash under his breath as he runs a hand through his hair. But he means no ill-will. As much as he tries to hide it, Eiji can see the curl of his lips. “I’ll be nice when you stop giving me a reason to bully you, weirdo.”

“Can’t help who I am.” he says with a shrug. “You’ll just have to deal with it.”

Ash finally looks his way again, bangs tucked behind his ears, and Eiji hates how he takes his breath away, how he’s unable to tear his gaze off of him and how his heart squeezes. It was a smile to end all smiles, the embodiment of joy itself with his eyes crinkling, cheeks rosy, body completely relaxed like he’s finally beginning to let go.

“Woe is me.”

xiv.

Eiji doesn’t understand why they’ve been loitering the lobby for ten minutes. He gets dizzy from watching Ash circle in front of the front desk, yelling at his cellphone as he wildly gesticulates as if to let the entire world know that he was absolutely pissed. A yawn escapes his lips as Ash jabs his finger at the “end call” button, only to enter into another fiery tirade of curse words and insults.

It’s well past nine, giving Eiji the impression that it was all because of that interview he had mentioned before. He can’t help but feel responsible for keeping him so late, for making him so angry. To be honest, it was unnerving watching him like this, but he needed to make things right for the sanity of everyone around them.

After reciting a prayer in his head, he walks over to him.

“Ash?”

“—How the fuck was _I_ supposed to know people would show up like that? That’s beyond my control!”

“Ash,” Eiji calls out again, reaching to touch him only to be ignored. Ash paces the other way, continuing his verbal onslaught to whomever was on the other line.

“Oh God, don’t blame it on me, you old lady! If you’re so concerned with it, you should’ve called me!” Eiji feels _extra_ guilty now for having his phone in his back pocket the whole time they were up at Ibe’s. He leans up against a wall and cowers, guilty. Eiji can only watch everything unfold through the spaces of his fingers. “You know what? I don’t give a shit anymore, Jess. I’ll meet you there in a few. Fuck this,” intones Ash, and he finally simmers down a bit.

Eiji isn’t quite sure what he should do or say to get him to stop sighing to himself, or mumble under his breath, so he gathers all of the courage in his being to withstand another one of his outbursts and bows before him.

“I’m sorry,” he tells him succinctly. 

Ash stands in place, actually considering the apology. Eiji raises his head slowly to numb the pain he just _knew_ his reaction would inflict, only to see Ash look more exasperated than furious.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

“I mean, I’m the one who didn’t keep track of time and held onto your ph—”

“It’s not about that, so don’t worry about it.” He flicks his forehead and smirks.

“Show some respect.” Eiji playfully punches his shoulder.

“—Nobody actually shows up on time in Hollywood. Besides, we’ve got bigger issues.”

“ _We?_ ”

“Yes, ‘we.’ Unless you want to go home by yourself with a horde of people on your ass.”

“Send them my way! I can take ‘em!” snorts Eiji confidently, flexing his arm and slapping a hand on his bicep. 

“You’re hopeless.” Ash shakes his head at his childish antics. “How are you with crowds, Eiji?” he asks, actually showing a bit of concern for him.

He contemplates his competitions and track meets back in high school, the people that’d cheer him on from the bleachers and behind fences. Eiji likes the sound of applause, especially from high up in the air. Likes how tiny people are from the sky.

“Pretty good, I guess,” he tells him, remembering how good it felt to be in front of an audience, basking in praise.

“That won’t do.” Ash clicks his tongue and snaps his finger, motioning to his jacket. “Take that off.”

“Why?” raises Eiji, quite offended Ash thought he was lying.

“We’ll trade.” With narrowed eyes, he places Ibe’s duffle bag full of equipment onto the ground and shrugs off his jean jacket, handing it over to him with reluctance.

“We’re trading because…?”

“Trust me.” Ash changes out of his hoodie and holds it between his knees, proceeding to struggle into Eiji’s jacket. It was practically glued to him as another, uncomfortable and folded second skin. “You’re pretty petite, aren’t you? Tight fit.”

“I’m _lean_.” Eiji bites his lip as Ash adjusts the jacket in attempts to make it looser, fearing the back might rip perfectly in half with just how broad his shoulders are. “You’d better be careful. My sister bought me that!”

“Okay, whatever. Arms up.” He rolls his eyes, surrendering to his commands. His hoodie is put over his head, and he wriggles into the sleeves easily. It was big on him, plain and simple, hem stopping at the top of his thighs.

It’s unapologetically _him,_ this ladent scent. Of smoke and pine, laced with the wispiness of a faint, flowery cologne— like a gentle rain putting out a fire. He tries to be quiet as he inhales deeply, filling his lungs with him, imagining himself in the woods with an oil lamp with Ash at his side. His smell… It's nice.

“I could’ve put it on myself,” Eiji falters, blushing stubbornly at the gesture, busying his hands by slinging the bag on his shoulder and fiddling with the strap. He fixes the collar and folds the sleeves until they’re at his wrists.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drones, fixing Eiji’s bangs so that it was out of his eyes. “When we go out, follow me and act cool. You’ll thank me later.”

“Wh—” Ash then pulls the hood over his head, drawing the strings and tying it tight in a double knot until only his nose is poking out. “Hey!”

“You see okay?”’

“I can barely see my _feet_.” 

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll lead you out. Keep your face covered, alright?” Before Eiji can slip another protest, Ash grabs his hand, promptly silencing him. His pulse reaches a grand crescendo as they seemingly leave in slow motion, welcomed by flickering lights and the click of a camera. He doesn’t mean to cling to him, but the sensation of being pulled and picked apart is too strong. It’s been years, having this much attention, Eiji thinks to himself. It’s terrifying.

“Stay close to me,” gently coos Ash in front of him as they braced a mob of fans and paparazzi that waited behind those revolving doors. What could he do but trust him, this man that practically lives in the limelight?

The only thing Eiji can make out through this peephole is his fingers intertwined with Ash’s. He can feel him, his steady pulse, how he’s probably dealt with this dozens of times. He can feel his firm, warm grip on him, and with this, Eiji knows he’s safe there right at his side.

xiv. (part 2)

“Ash, look this way!”

“About your fi—”

“Who is that—”

“I love you!”

Eiji was quite popular with his peers back in high school, but this crowd had a much different, more chaotic and raw vibe. While girls would cutely call his name with their hands behind their backs at home, Ash’s fans squealed at the top of their lungs, reaching their hands out for the smallest bit of contact with him. A glance, a nod, a smile, a scowl— they would take anything they could get. This fumbling through masses of bodies had already drained Eiji to the point he had to hug Ash’s arm in fear that someone would claw his face out through the hood. 

Maybe he's out of touch, an old soul, or just oblivious to the workings of the fanatic mind, but he never understood this kind of Beatlemania, _especially_ for someone like Ash with such a polarizing attitude.

Wait.

No.

No, he gets it perfectly.

None of these people have actually been with him and only perceive him through what he wants to be seen as: that pale-haired, pale-eyed sweetheart he’s always been since childhood. Though now, he's older, more marketable, and much more attractive, and it gives him this sort of ethereal edge that made people _worship_ him. Must be tiring, muses Eiji, living a life like that; working when you didn’t have to, catching a break only behind closed doors. He can't even be himself when he's out like this, because every move, every word can get twisted and scrutinized by the whole world.

Ash’s hand hand got clammy, shaky, concerning Eiji.

Eiji loosens the strings on the hood to gaze at Ash, who responded to the reception with open arms. He was beaming, waving, shaking hands, all while never once letting go of Eiji. He turns around to look at him, taking him in his eyes.

Ash grins. Eiji’s heart aches.

xiv. (part 3)

It’s like all of the interactions they'd built up to this point had just crumbled at their feet as they sat in this dark-tinted van, staring at their own respective sides of the street. They weaved through backroads to shake off any pursuers all while Ash’s phone would blow up in an unending sequence of calls. Eventually, he grows tired of its incessant ringing and it's eye-straining brightness and turns the damned thing off, resting his head on the window.

“You might wanna stay off social media,” he suggests quietly, just slightly above a whisper. It’s shaky, and it sounds like he's restraining himself, so Eiji handpicks his words carefully.

“I don't really keep up with that stuff, to tell you the truth.” And he leaves it like that, his voice dispersing into the alternative station that was buzzing in the car stereo.

The anxiety in the room is thick, implanting Eiji in this particular and stiff position of his body slanted toward the window, neck craned ever so slightly to read whatever billboard was panned out above. He isn’t sure where they're headed to now— by the looks of it, they're nearing Times Square— but Eiji doesn't have the heart to tell him to drop him off right now.

“You must deal with that kind of stuff daily,” Eiji remarks, worming his way into the topic of home. “I wonder how you do it.”

“It's all part of the job,” Ash replies monotonously. Eiji chuckles.

“I could never get used to it. I commend you.”

“Who says I’m ‘used’ to it? It’s a different situation every time, and you have to learn how to adapt quickly.” He winces at the response, knowing that he was beginning to drive a wedge between them. “One picture and they can narrate your entire life. Feels like walking on thin ice.”

“I had no idea.”

“Of course you wouldn't. And you shouldn't have to, but you're so fucking stupid that you've unknowingly entangled youself with my personal life,” he scolds suddenly, releasing all of the pent up anger brewing within him. The way Ash’s bright green irises contract in the dark unsettles Eiji. He can see the whites of his teeth, like he's baring them, ready to bite. “You had one _job,_ and it was to follow me and make sure they couldn't see your face. But _no._ Who the fuck knows why you decided to pop your head out? Did you want them to see you next to me? Want them to assume things about you—”

“No, I—”

“You're so incompetent, so naive about the world around you! What was going through your mind, seriously? Are you that—”

“I wanted to look at you.”

“—desperate for cl—”

“I wanted to look at you to see how you were doing.” Eiji presses on, trying to reason with him. Ash trails off and stops for once, listening half-heartedly. “I was worried because… You suddenly felt so small in my hand… So _fragile_ ,” he explains blindly, heart knocking heavily, hands clinched onto his jeans. “Like I wanted to _protect_ you from them. I don't know how to explain it.”

“Are you serious?” Ash scoffs patronizingly. The confession and the softened expression on Ash’s face made him want to run away. Far away. Far, far into nowhere. 

“You were looking out for me. You were watching over me this whole time.” Eiji scoots to the middle seat, closing in on Ash who refused to spare him a glance. “It's only natural I do the same in my own little way, because that's what friends do.”

“Yeah, right. All I did was walk out with you. Don't get it twisted—”

“I'm not incompetent. Naive, maybe, but not stupid. Your reaction tells me everything. How you're avoiding me, dodging my words.” Eiji leans into him, until he sees the pores on his neon-reflected skin and his dilated pupils. He’s unusually calm unlike before and Eiji just _knows_ he's backed him into a corner. “I know it was you. You told Ibe not to come. You had me sent there instead. What's the reason behind that, Ash? What do you want with me? Why are you helping me?”

A crack. Hesitance. 

Ash had taken the bait and Eiji was pulling him right in.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time i write blocks of dialogue i swear i feel my pretty writing deteriorating smh,,,,,,,,,
> 
> a little chapter to move things along. :'-) thank u all for stickin around and giving this ol fic a chance.
> 
> u can reach me here on twit: @selfetish
> 
> edit/// forgot to mention!! banter in the beginning was inspired by the banter in crisis core between zack/cloud :'-O


	6. golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> freedom, hues, and open doors

* * *

_as i open my eyes,_   
_hold it, focus, hoping,_   
_take me back to the light._   
_i know you were way too bright for me._   
_i'm hopeless, broken._   
_so you wait for me in the sky._   
_browns my skin just right._

\- [harry styles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=enuYFtMHgfU)

* * *

xv.

_Ash had been coming to Judd Parker’s prime time news program for as long as he’s been in the industry. This space, this chair, this man are constants in his life, like another home. He felt comfortable here, in the presence of this portly old man who never ages, in this antiquated room suspended in time. He tells himself that this is okay, there’s nothing to worry about. Judd’s as honest as the day is long. You’re fine. You’re safe._

_“Oh. Are we on?” Ash adjusts the microphone clipped onto Eiji’s jean jacket. He smiles nervously at the third camera pointed at him, tucking his long bangs behind his ear. He’s done this so many times. Why is his heart still pounding?_

_“Yes.” They laugh at the strange start, Ash covering his embarrassed face with a hand._

_“God. Can we cut the cameras and start over?” he jokes, wiping an imaginary tear away from the corner of his eye. “Feels like coming back to your parents after running off with some psycho. It’s just_ strange. _"_

_“Nothing to worry about, Ash. It’s been a long time since you’ve been here, right? I understand if you’re nervous.”_

_“Was around five years ago for the promotion of Banana Fish.” Ash slouches in his chair, trying to loosen up a bit. “Has been a while, huh? You haven’t changed a bit.”_

_“I wish I could say the same about you,” says Judd with mirth. He pats his bald head with a jubilant grin. “I mean l_ , _you’ve grown your hair out while I’ve been losing mine! You’re starting to look like the rockstars that have sat in that very seat three decades ago!”_

_“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dramatically, he flips his long hair, shaking his head from side to side to flaunt its volume. When the whiplash starts to get to him, he levels his head with a chuckle, hair stopping just short of his shoulders. “Did you read my mind? Was goin’ for that grungy look for the film I’m workin’ on now.”_

_“Perfect leeway, Mister Lynx. You’re back into acting!”_

_“Yeah. Good to be back.” Ash folds one leg over the other, but it doesn’t stop the shaking of his knees._

_“As everyone knows, you disappeared from the public eye for a while after the success of Banana Fish. You've only emerged just last year with your shoot with Autumn de Wilde. What told you that this was the time to come back?”_

_“How could I say no? She’s like, iconic. I have a lot of fun doing artsy stuff like that. There’s no pressure at all,” tells Ash. He waves at the camera to greet Miss Wilde. “But in all honesty, I’ve done a lot of soul searching during that break. Thinking about my love for this job and how much it meant to many people. About freedom. And of Griff.”_

_“First, I’d like to offer my condolenses—”_

_“None of that. It’s alright.” But even so, there’s still that stubborn pang in his chest that never goes away. He was so sure it had healed, but even mentioning his name is like picking a scab and bleeding all over again. “In a way, he's still around. I always keep a part of him with me, so I don't really get too, um, down and out about it. He's giving me strength from somewhere far away from here and definitely much better, so there's not much to be sad about when I think about it that way.” Could he make it more obvious that he thinks about Griff a lot? Try as he might to act strong; some things just slip between the nooks and crannies of his carefully crafted front._

_Ash chooses not to say anything more on the matter, and they sit for a while in comfortable silence. Usually, celebrity news outlets would try to milk trauma and petty gossip for a quick buck, narrating and stretching words to fit a certain viewpoint. He likes Judd and how he knows when to pause and let him catch his breath; never to dwell on topics he knows are sensitive. It's a considerate gesture that’s rare in this business._

_“You mentioned ‘freedom,’ Ash. What does ‘freedom’ mean to you, especially as an actor?”_

_He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, pondering the concept long and hard. Snippets of Cape Cod and the Atlantic and an older brother play back in a jittery film. Old men finger-picking their six string guitars from a faded, wooden porch and the laughter of children echo in his ears— an anthem of some sort; of innocence and simpler times. But freedom?_

_Freedom to him..._

_“I watched an interview once with Nina Simone talkin’ about the same thing one night,” he starts. “She said it’s just a ‘feeling’ you have. Something that’s different for every person. When you hear a word like that, you think about speech or art or expression. But a ‘feeling?’” Ash shakes his head, resting his chin on his palm. “That’s just so profound to me! I thought about it some, really trying to remember a time I truly felt free, and to tell you the truth,” Ash laughs, “I don’t think I’ve felt ‘free’ a day in my life!”_

_“Is it because you’re Hollywood’s it-boy? Always on the run?”_

_“Maybe. But I don’t really think so. It’s really hard to explain. Um. Nina’s freedom is no fear. And yours…” Ash leans forward to Judd, imitating his engaged posture with his hands folded over his lap. “What’s your idea of ‘freedom,’ Judd?”_

_“Freedom of thought and press.” Judd grins. “Aren’t I supposed to be asking the questions?”_

_“Yeah, but you made me get all retrospective! So my answer to you is simply, ‘I don’t know.’ I’m still searching for my freedom, whether that be in a role, or an experience, or a person. You’ll be the first I’ll tell once I’ve finally found it.”_

_“I’m sure you’ve heard this many times before, Ash, but you’re beyond your years.”_

_“I get that a lot.” He forces a smile, another snicker as his demons grope all over his body. Claws threaded in his hair, pulling his head back. Paws fondling the frontside of his pants. Talons gripping his neck until he turned blue, digging at his back until he bathed in crimson. His lungs forget how to function and he feels shivers everywhere. He can't find his voice anymore and reverts back into a kid in that seat; small and helpless and bound as Judd morphs into his worst nightmare._

xvi. 

Ash is on his computer screen, his TV and on him— well, in a way because this is the most comfortable hoodie he’s ever been in and he has no plans of taking it off. It’s all in due recompense though because as he can see right now, Ash still has his jacket on. Doesn't seem to be a “tight fit” with how snug he looked in it. Eiji puffs his cheeks. 

It was a bit unsettling just how fast Ash had become the center of his universe _—_ what beckons him from the corners of his mind and prompts him to work hard and become a stronger version of himself. Here he was in his pajama pants all cozied up with a mug of hot tea, eating up anecdotes of a coastal childhood and an older brother. _So he wasn’t kidding about being a country boy_. He smirks and reaches for his thick-rimmed glasses on the coffee table for a better look at him. 

Prettier up close and personal, he decides. Flecks of gold in his verdant eyes. Blond eyelashes and light freckles scattering over his nose. Dimples that dot at his cheeks, like cute little crescents, when something’s particularly funny. Skin that would bloom into the brightest pinks when he gets all shy and embarrassed.

The angle’s funky. The lighting’s all wrong. The composition is messy. They never give him the justice he deserves, never capture the radiance he naturally gave off. Eiji doesn’t know why he’s so enfired by an interview meant to relay information about Ash’s time away from the spotlight. Abashed by his intense attraction to miniscule details, he detracts his attention away from Mister Hollywood and to the actual task at hand.

He should at least upload the footage to his laptop and get _something_ started. This is _his_ work, not Ibe’s, who didn’t even bother shooting him a text about his whereabouts. Right! He’s calling all the shots here!

He wonders what colors he should grade onto it, what color he thinks of when he watches it all back. There at that moment, their hips flush against each other, he feels no warmth or intimacy _—_ no reds or oranges or yellows of any kind that could convey who Ash was at that moment. Blues and violets _—_ now isn’t just that so cliche? The hue of despondence? Of depression? 

No, none of that. Ash is beyond such things, beyond those realms of emotions. Being there with Ash was like sinking into a bleak, lightless pit and into a vat of tar. Absolute darkness and desaturation. Black. Indigo ink drips down the whites of Eiji’s walls and he finds himself there again in that dreary nowhere with Ash and a lit cigarette. There’s always that gut feeling when he’s around him. 

Even then, as they sat next to each other through the congested evening traffic, it felt like he had unearthed something that was meant to lie dormant; some marred creature he prodded out of hiding. He hurt Ash for being callow. For trying to be close to him.

 _“A coincidence_ — _pure chance that the world brought us together again,”_ Ash had resolved, recoiling back to that unperturbed man and giving him the cold shoulder. And just like that they parted without a farewell or a single glance, Ash speeding away into the frigid night and leaving Eiji with the pieces of a shattered psyche on the asphalt in front of his apartment.

Eiji screams into the throw pillow on his couch, kicking his feet against the cushions as he lets yet another terrible encounter with Ash loop in his head in jittery film. It’d be fine if he never comes in contact with him again. He’s caused enough embarrassment to last him a lifetime. It’d be too painful to see him after being so rude; invading his personal space, bickering and making arrogant assumptions about him. 

—What was he even thinking, making a claim like _that_ ? That Ash was some kind of mastermind behind their whole visit? As if Ash would want anything to do with someone like him with only short, no-name, amateur projects under his belt. It was beyond conceited and vain. Just _horrible._

_But then again…_

A part of him wanted to believe his delusions, wanted to believe that somewhere in Ash that he really did think about him. Can he feel the spark? Does his heart thrum in rapid staccatos when they touch? His mind race when his name comes up? Passing all of this up for coincidence— It didn’t sit well with Eiji. There’s a reason for everything, he believes. No one is this lucky, this _blessed_ to be given second chances.

Eiji turns on his back and covers his eyes with an arm, this sleeve that was _his._ His heart begins to pump life again, slow and steady, as he envelopes himself with him and his scent and his warmth.

Warm.

It was a strange word to describe someone as aloof as Ash, but it’s all he can think of right now as he’s snuggled in his oversized hoodie, dreaming of impossible scenarios between them. Scenarios in which Eiji is kind and not weird as Ash calls him. Scenarios where they’re together again with the lens of a camera, too young and dumb to care about the expectations of others and themselves. He wonders if it’d be different if they met under another circumstance. Just two guys with a mutual passion for cinema, feet kicked up on diner tables as they complain about the mundane things in life and cute girls and their hometowns. They’d definitely be friends, wouldn’t they?

Eiji blushes profusely.

Silly. He’s lost his damned mind _—_ he was sure of it. Thinking about a guy he’d spent a couple of hours with in such a way… Ash was right, he _is_ pretty weird. But Ash just had that effect on people, leaving them with so many questions that needed answering, with _yearning._ When he remembers his hand in Ash’s, his laughter, and his smiles, he can’t help but _want_.

Never had he wanted something so badly _—_ To walk beside someone instead of behind, to become better in hopes of one day moving forward from a distant past and the object casting a shadow over him. Money, fame, awards, prestige… They mean nothing if he cannot grow from this sorry shell of a man.

He takes it all back. He'd love to see Ash and unapologetically be himself and joke around and get him all mad. He gets the impression it's something they both need right now, because as much as he rues his previous words and actions, he doesn't regret _all_ of them.

 _“I wanted to protect you from them.”_

He’s a lonely heart floating aimlessly like him, fending for himself in this uncaring city. When he thinks about Ash Lynx trembling under his touch, he can’t help but feel the need to be there for him, to hold him in his arms and calm his shaking and his fears— whatever they may be.

What could Eiji possibly lose in making the first move? In getting up and trying again? 

xvi. (part 2)

It’s midnight when he hears incessant knocking. He’d fallen asleep to the whir of Ash’s voice and annoyingly catchy commercial jingles all while caught up in his own imagination. The bridge of his glasses dig into his nose and the first thing he does is pinch around there to alleviate the pain before getting up for the door.

“I’m coming,” Eiji calls out, rubbing his rumbling stomach. He drinks the remnants of his now-cold tea and staggers to the entryway.

He figures it’s probably old Miss Topacio down the hall, the dubbed 'granny’ of the building. She often walks around, knocking to see who opens and who doesn’t to help her with whatever domestic inconvenience she had encountered for the day. A clogged toilet. Wonky internet connection. That new iPhone her grandkids had gifted her this Christmas (“What’s a ‘Facetime’ and how do I get it?’”). Since he moved here last year, she’d been coming to him regularly, thinking he’s the most tech-savvy guy at the complex (mostly because he always carries his camera around with him). It’s kind of routine at this point, anyways. Eiji doesn’t mind lending a hand.

He rubs his groggy eyes under his specs and yawns. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Is this Eiji’s place? Eiji Okumura’s?” _Awk-uh-moo-ruh._

 _Wait a second_. He squints his eyes and feels his mouth go all dry and his chest begin to squeeze him out of all of the air in his body.

Oh shit.

The lens of his glasses fog up and he slams the door shut, thinking of a logical next step.

He ought to call someone— an ambulance! Or should Harumi be the one to hear his last words? God, he was never good at split-second decisions! He read a PSA online once that the first thing during a heart attack is to take some medicine and lay on your side, but that stupid knocking just wouldn’t stop!

He looks back on his young life and thinks that he spent his time well. Traveling the world and doing the things he loved most— what more could he possibly ask for?

He clutches his heart and grasps the knob in the other, accepting his end. Through the fisheye peephole, he sees that _he’s_ still there, face obscured by the brim of his dad cap. He opens the door again, this time enough for only his head to peep out.

“What are you doing here?” whispers Eiji, horrified by the way his voice sounded. 

“Oh. I… Eiji! You wear glasses! Huh. I didn’t um,” he scratches the hair at the nape of his neck, “I didn't recognize you. Uh, anyways, I was in the neighborhood and I got your apartment number from the landlord and I—”

“Ash. Is this okay? I mean, _you_ being _here_?”

“Yeah. Yup. Why wouldn’t it— Ah.” The car ride rushes back into his skull and Ash immediately understands his worry. “I’ve got a hat on so I’ll be alright.”

Eiji lifts a brow and leans against the doorframe, not convinced at all by his poor attempt to mask his identity. Even looking through this narrow crevice, he can tell it’s Ash. A hat, sure, but it couldn’t cover up his tousled hair or his tall stature. For a guy so concerned with privacy, he was _not_ doing a good job at retaining it at all. Sighing, Eiji decides to open his door to this hot mess.

“You can come in if you want, _Clark Kent._ ” Ash reddens at the nickname.

“It’s— I’m fine. Standing here. It’s your jacket I wanted to drop off so… And my hoodie. You’re still wearin’ it.” The palpitations go to his knees and it’s his turn to get flustered. It’s hard to stand, to even _think,_ with Ash giving him a onceover and noting how baggy his attire is.

“I crashed when I got home. I’ll take it off right away!” As quickly as he could manage, he fumbles with the hem of the hoodie, trying to keep the undershirt tucked down so it wouldn’t come off and expose his torso to Ash. 

“Do you need help—”

“I’ve got it. Just stay put.” He doesn’t ‘got it.’ It’s this internal conflict of whether he should flash Ash or not, and he’s decided on the latter, which is why he’s trying so desperately to reveal as little of himself as possible to him.

“Let me—” Ash’s hands are on him. Underneath the hoodie. He removes it in one fell swoop. “We’re both _guys_ , y’know.”

“I’m just a little conscious, is all,” he laughs nervously. He's definitely not the ripped athlete he was back then.

“Oh. I get it. Well uh, here.” He thrust his hand out and offered his jacket, their hands touching briefly before Ash tucks it into his pocket. “I wore it to my interview. Were you watching?”

Without realizing it, Eiji ignores his words in favor of ogling him— specifically his hands. They’re veiny. His fingers are long. He can see the chipped black polish on some of his nails. 

“I guess not,” Ash says, smiling uncomfortably at Eiji’s stupor. Wait. No. He was! He opens his mouth to speak, but he knows it wouldn’t make a difference. “Sorry to bother you so late at night. I remembered you saying it was your sister’s, so I didn’t wanna hold onto it for too long. Thought it might be important.”

“Thank you.” Is that all he could say? A simple ‘thank you’ when his mind, his heart’s on the verge of overflowing with images of him?

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Good work earlier.” Don’t leave yet. There’s so much more he wants to say—! “Have a good night, Eiji.”

He’s walking away just like that night, keeping him in the dark. His backside— he’s so tired of looking at it. This is his chance. He can’t let him slip past his fingers.

“Ash, wait!” In an instant, he’s clutching onto Ash’s tee shirt, stopping him in his tracks. “You don’t have to turn around. Just listen.” What was he doing? This is so stupid! Now that he has him, he doesn’t even know what to do. “You probably hate hearing this, but I’m sorry. For overstepping boundaries and being so arrogant. I’m not used to that sort of stuff so I’m glad you were there and being so considerate.”

Ash is tight-lipped and turns his head for Eiji to observe his profile.

“I want to know if it’s alright if I wish to see you again?” stammers Eiji, grip loosening on his shirt. He had unconsciously leaned his head against his shoulder as he looked at his socked feet, counting the holes to alleviate his stress. “We could go fishing—”

“It’s winter.”

“Ice fishing!” Eiji switches onto autopilot. “Or whatever you’d like! I just… I don’t want to regret letting you go. Not again, because I really _do_ like you!”

“Is that like some Japanese thing? Because you can’t—” Ash looks at him through the spaces of his fingers. His eyes have lost its intense hue, looking more yellowish under dim lighting. “You can’t go around saying shit like that to people. You might give them all of these crazy _ideas_ that—”

“Ideas?” Eiji tilts his head.

“You're so— _ugh._ Forget I said anything. I’d appreciate it if you don’t look at me for a minute.” He brings the brim of his hat down. “Hey. Did you… mean it?”

“I don't lie, unlike _someone._ ”

“You still think I planned everything out? Okay. Tell me how you think the world is flat too while you’re at it.”

“I have my suspicions, but for now, I'll take your word for it.” Eiji grins. “And I meant it. The whole ‘fishing buddies’ thing.”

“Oh.” Ash frowns.

“ _Oh?_ You sound disappointed.”

“It’s uh, nothing. Since we’re being honest now,” Ash takes a deep breath and faces his way, “I really came here to tell you that you’re genuinely a nice guy— dense— but—”

“Hey!”

“You had good intentions and I mistook it for something else. So I’m sorry for earlier. For blowing my top and stuff,” he splutters quickly as if to keep his pride intact.

“What was that?” Eiji inquires cheekily, cupping a hand around his ear.

“I’m _sorry,_ ” he repeats through grit teeth. Eiji huffs and folds his arms, pouting at the half-assed apology.

“How about one more time? For keeps!”

“You’re an _asshole._ ”

“And you’re a famous actor and you can’t even apologize properly. That wouldn't pass in Japan! At least _pretend_ to be sorry!” Eiji can see the steam coming out of his ears and cloud around them. Cute.

“I don't usually do this. Not for anyone. So you're gonna have to ‘scuse me.”

“Hm. No. Don't think I will.” He goes back to his door practically skipping, taking in a dumbfounded Ash over his shoulder. “Come back again tomorrow and I'll consider it.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Like the next day—”

“I know what tomorrow means!” barks Ash. “What you’re saying is you want me to come back here?”

“No pressure or anything. We could hang out or something.”

“Dude, like a _date_?” Ash comments with a smirk. 

Eiji shrugs his shoulders, confused by his pompous aura.

“If you would like to call it that, then sure. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot ever since that party. Let’s start fresh. Wipe the slate clean. No more apologies or ‘weirdness.’ Just ‘Ash and Eiji’ instead of ‘Hollywood and Izumo.’ Like this,” he stalks back over to Ash and grabs his hand, “Hello! My name is Eiji Okumura. And you are?” A definite step up from before. He felt more confident this time around, not too high-strung or timorous.

This is big, important: Ash doesn’t have a smartass comeback to prod at his ego and graciously accepts the gesture with a sincere smile.

“Hi Eiji. Nice to meet you. I’m Ash Lynx.” And they wait for each other to stop this slow handshake as they longingly look into each other’s eyes, like a ten-ton weight had lifted from their bodies.

It takes courage to knock on a door. It takes courage to open that door and face whatever lies behind the other side. Tonight marks his first step out into the light, walking these halls with Ash to guide him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dialogue's got me all like: ➖👄➖
> 
> my ass tags "slow burn" and i'm already fucking impatient with myself LMFAO!!! we are moving into the friends part of the friends to lovers, slowly but surely!!!!!!!!! (+ more mature themes from here on out,,, please heed the tags. :'^O)
> 
> reading from yall lights a fire up my ass to continue to write, write, write!! i cannot thank you all enough for clicking on this fic!!!!!! please take care of yourselves <333 lots of love


	7. 私をとるときは私だけをとってね

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dreams, paninis, and a silent confession

* * *

_“[when you take me, you take only me.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATagau-2VyE) and when you hold me in your arms, you think only about me. is that clear?"_   
  
_"i understand exactly."_   
  
_"i don't care what you do to me, but i don't want you to hurt me. i've had enough hurt already in my life. more than enough. now i want to be happy.”_

\- norwegian wood, haruki murakami

* * *

xvii.

If only for a moment, he forgets that he’s in New York City in a crumbling, molded apartment; living out a fantasy meant for princes and carriages and Ilene Wood’s romantic crooning.

_Romantic?_

And what? Is this couch actually a fresh bed of daisies? This apartment a nice, secluded cottage facing lush, forest scenery; rich with shrubs trimmed into heart-shapes, a gentle stream, and talking sycamore trees? Will the pigeons flutter in through opened windows and dress him in the finest silks and linens, singing in some unheard of language? Will the clip-clop of hooves clamor at his door and a young aristocrat in white come barging in? Blond and pale-eyed and eager for new, handsome blood— _his blood_ — to taint and claim as his own?

 _“I’ve come to rescue you!”_ he’d proclaim in a heroic tone. (Though, Eiji would hear it as _“I’ve come to selfishly kiss you, right there, on your lips!”_ ) And Eiji would pretend to be asleep just to see if his suspicions would be true. Just to see how audacious his prince really is.

What a silly thought! For a man of twenty-four, he had quite the imagination still— remnants of a boyhood he had long shed. One of endless adventure and fancy and perpetual greens. Here, nature is tucked away in small concrete planters, bartered and bred like some pageant-winning poodle. Everything in New York oozes a masculinity he has yet to claim; of pavement grays, steaming manholes and brick by boring brick. Everyone is cold and indifferent and they fade so easily, becomes one with the fog of it all. They disappear.

But never him. Never Ash. Maybe the boy in him lives on in his green eyes. (Emeralds? Jades? Peridots?) Eiji’s running barefoot there, soles pounding against the earth, mud splattering on his calves, heels blushing. Sunflowers bud at every imprint as he chases after the spark of a dream, unknowingly leading him all the way to Ash.

For wiping the slate clean, he thought he’d wake up to the sound of songbirds chirping mellifluent arias all Disney-style; to warm, liquid sunlight spilling onto him in the bucket-fulls. Eiji stirs in his sleep, lips pouting from Granny Smith apple schnapps and princely kisses. The taste becomes tart as the insolent sound of a clock striking twelve rips him away from this fairytale. Pulls him back into that world of rags and evil stepmothers. (Though in this case, it’s his sunken sofa and a not-so-evil Ibe.)

His phone’s unleashing an unrelenting barrage _pings_ . He sticks his hand out of the pile of blankets he had buried himself in, groping for the damned thing on the table. Eiji reaches a bit closer and falls, wrapping himself into a human burrito onto the ground with a pained _oof._

A bit more awake now, he pushes himself up and gets his phone. It’s hot, dying, exploding with notifications. The volume in which the notifications popped onto his screen was _alarming_ to say the least. The only people he ever hears from are Ibe, Harumi and the occasional client. His hands are shaky as he unlocks it, feeling his heart drop at the growing red numbers in the corner of each app.

He checks his Instagram first. It was a strictly professional page with his old projects, camera tests, and photography from his travels with Ibe. His following was small, filled with old fans from his pole-vaulting days and film nerds alike. Never in a million years did he think he’d attract the attention of thousands of teenagers who communicated strictly in slang and emojis. Smirking emojis. Side-eye emojis. Fire. Tongues. Incomprehensible keyboard mashing in all capital letters.

Making no sense of it at all, he checks his direct messages for a bit more clarity.

A lot of pictures are sent to him (which he doesn’t _dare_ open in fear of seeing something that’d scar him for life), and the message previews all have different iterations of “This you?”

He presses on a message with the kindest looking profile picture— a picture of a boston terrier— and holds his breath. 

_Hah. Shit._

He laughs cynically, which soon progresses into a multicultural stream of profanities.

He shoots his gaze at his door, checking if all the locks are locked, and proceeds to turn off his notifications and put all of his social medias on private.

Because nothing is scarier than a teenager with a WiFi connection.

xvii. (part 2)

The press works pretty fast. Already, blurry pictures of him and Ash are circulating around the internet. Harumi had sent him a screenshot of an article with him and Ash as the cover photo along with a lot of question marks and mistyped hiragana. All it took was one clear shot of his face under the hood for the world to recognize him as Eiji Okumura—

**The Lynx’s New Boy-Toy?**

He doesn’t even read past the headline, just leaves sister dearest on _read_ and disconnects from the outer world to soak the situation in.

Of course, Eiji had tried phoning Ibe for some damage control, only to be told the run-of-the-mill advice of laying low for a little and letting Ash’s PR take care of it.

But Eiji being _Eiji_ couldn’t just sit around and twiddle his thumbs.

He wants to call him, hear his voice. If he’s doing alright with all of this nonsense about them going down the grapevine. Eiji counts the ten digit of his phone number over and over again, wondering what he should say, if he'd even _pick up_. Maybe a text would suffice, a simple ‘How are you?’

It’s stupid. His thumbs can't even _move_ as he realizes Ash had so generously snapped a selfie of himself for his contact photo last night. Hair disheveled, a lazy half-grin and his bedroom eyes. 

He doesn't ever let him catch a break, does he? Lets his presence haunt him through little electric currents of the circuits of the phone. Ash is terrible, infuriatingly _adorable_ and—

His phone rings and he fumbles the thing around like it’s a fish out of water.

Speak of the devil.

“Hello?”

“Guess we're dating now.” _Opening with that?_ Eiji chokes on air and lets out a high-pitched, whinnied noise. “...Kidding.”

“I knew that.” He clears his throat. “A ‘good morning’ would’ve been nice instead of one of your lame jokes.”

“Ouch,” Ash laughs. He can hear the rustling of sheets on the other line, meaning he must've just woken up. “Lemme try again. Good mornin’, Eiji! Sleep well? Dream any dreams of little ol’ me?”

“I was starting to feel bad about what I did yesterday, but not so much anymore,” Eiji chuckles, scratching his cheek. “But seriously. Are you…okay? With all of _this_?”

“This happens every time I’m seen outside with anyone. I'm more worried about _you_.” Eiji’s face heats up, letting his sincerity echo in his head for a while, like church bells in an empty cathedral. “You there?”

“I am.” Eiji catches his breath, laying back down on the sofa to ease the dizziness. “I’m incognito for now, but thanks for asking. Kids these days are really scary— Oh my God, let me tell you how they found my old track photos from high school! Beyond creepy!” Ash hums, urging him to go on. “I used to pole vault back then. Would’ve never pegged me as the athletic type, huh?”

“Nope. You fit more of the dork-pushed-into-a-locker, ‘give-me-all-your-lunch-money’ type.” Eiji can _see_ the curl of his lip. He huffily turns on his side and pouts.

“Dick.”

“Honest.”

“Yeah? And what does that make you?”

“The hot, blond, popular guy that everyone loves,” he answers, laughably serious.

“Huh. You’re more the theatre kid that everyone finds annoying.”

“Okay, okay, that’s _cold._ My feelings are hurt.”

“‘ _Honest.’_ ”

“I liked you better when you were a cute, crying manbaby.”

“Tough. This is how I actually am. I can be just as much as a bully as you.” Ash _hmphs._ “Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” teases Eiji.

“I’m gonna go over there… I’m gonna go over there and _pummel_ your dumbass into the floor. Hope you like the taste of your own rug.”

“That a threat?”

“A _promise,_ ” Ash asserts. 

“Oh, I can see the headlines now. **Famous Banana Fish Star Ash Lynx Arrested For Assaulting Up-and-Coming Cinematographer**. As flattering as it sounds, don’t ruin your life over me.”

“You’re full of shit,” Ash sighs, accepting defeat. Eiji chuckles, watching his surroundings take on a pinkish color. He moves his head to the side and watches his furniture leave holographic afterimages. Eiji holds his hand in front of his hands and clenches it into a fist and then unclenches, clenches again, then unclenches. Listening to him, talking so carelessly… Almost feels like a dream. “...Then, I can expect to see you later, right?”

“Don’t know if I want to eat my own rug.”

“You— You know what I mean,” he stutters. It’s muffled, almost like he’s got his hand over his face. “I thought about last night a lot and well… With you…”

“Me?”

Ash lets out a shaky breath. “You’re _alright_ , I guess. So if you’re not busy today… I really want to, um, since I’m free and yesterday you said— _argh._ What I’m trying to say is—” Level-headed and nonchalant Ash Lynx, fumbling over his lines. There’s a first for everything.

Eiji smiles warmly. “You can see me. I'd really like that,” he says, trying to suppress his excitement.

“Cool.” He’s trying to be as emotionless as ever, but even Eiji knows by how fast his response was that he was flying just as high as he was.

“On one condition! Be safe on your way here. Would hate to have another mishap happen between us.”

“It wouldn’t… Wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Huh?”

“Just, uh, wait for me. I'll be there.”

“I'll be… Right here,” Eiji whispers, and shortly after, Ash hangs up. He rubs his neck, feeling that strange sensation Ash always seems to leave him with.

xviii.

Ash is coming over. Here. His _apartment_. 

It takes a few minutes to actually register, and when it hits him, it _hits._ His eyes practically bulge out of their sockets as he takes note of the clutter caving him in, the dirty dishes mocking him from the kitchen and the film paraphernalia scattered on wooden ladder bookcases and makeshift coffee tables of sealed cardboard boxes. His chest sinks when he locks eyes with the statuettes of Bruce Wayne and Monkey D. Luffy beside him, scrambling to his feet to get the damned things out of the living space in fear of cementing himself as a bonafide _geek._ He traipses around the many cords snaked across the floor, piling whatever fits into his arms. An anthology of JC Leyendecker’s work, a volume of _Berserk,_ a Lego pamphlet of the Millennium Falcon set he has yet to finish… He tosses them all haphazardly into his bedroom, making multiple trips until the lounge area is clear of any indicator that he is, in fact, _a bonafide geek._

Times like these make him wish that he’d been a little kinder to his mother, listened to her more. Sometimes, he sort of expects her head to pop out from behind a door and nag him for being such a _slog,_ pull on his ear to make his bed and do the laundry and sweep the floors. He hated every second being in that house with her before he had left with Ibe, but now, older and wiser, he feels that he took that time for granted.

Maybe he should try calling her instead of texting this time to have an actual conversation. Tell her all about the wonderful places he had been to. Foods he’s eaten. The beautiful people he’s met.

He chuckles. Of course, Ash comes to mind first, the American dream personified. Never a dull moment with him. He’s sure Mom would straighten that brat up if he ever took him back home. Ash would learn to love the quiet and the taste of charred mackerel on his tongue; remember the way sand feels between his toes and the crisp air and never want to be anywhere else but there, stuck in a bubble. Izumo just had that _effect_ on people— which was the exact reason why he had to leave and never look back if he ever wanted to make someone out of himself.

Eiji plucks the photo frame on his bookcase and stares at it, swiping his fingers across the memory forever captured there in a family portrait; a golden medal slung around his neck as his mother and father and Harumi all pose next to him with proud grins. 

Yeah. He should call and tell her that he forgives her. That the years have worn his malice away.

xix.

He’d finally got around to unpacking those boxes of décor and decided to spruce the place up a bit before Ash's arrival.

Eiji hears the first knock at noon, almost causing him to lose his balance on the stool he was standing on to string the fairy lights he’d always been meaning to put up.

“Coming!” shouts Eiji, and he quickly shuffles to the door, glancing at the floor mirror to make sure his bangs were in place. “Ash, hi—”

“Eiji!” Oh. Just Miss Topacio from down the hall. Eiji sighs disappointedly, slumping against the door frame.

“Afternoon, Miss Topacio. Did you need something?”

“My God. You do this?” she interjects in her thick accent, pushing one of her wrinkly hands onto his chest to step into his apartment. Eiji laughs at this, endeared by her eccentrism. He’s learned to appreciate the kookiness in her, what he always envisioned a grandmother ought to be like. “Looks nice!”

“Put everything up this morning,” he explains sheepishly, following her as she marvels at the new knick knacks around the apartment: photo frames, a record player, vases, tapestries, and floral throw pillows. (Who knew a little cleaning would make this much of a difference?) The elderly woman inspects the leaves of one of his nerve plants sitting on the countertop in the kitchen, _tsking_ to herself.

“You need to put in direct sunlight. Don’t know how it been living this long here.”

“Oh uh, feel free to move it.” And done. The little guy is relocated there at the window pane in front of the sink.

“Having a party?” she asks, motioning to the plate of sandwiches at the bar. Eiji flushes and rubs the back of his neck.

“Something like that. You can take one if you want. There’s plenty to go around—” Already done too. She happily munches on one of the triangular paninis he made for Ash while taking a seat there, feeling right at home. He isn’t quite sure what brought her here, but he doesn’t question it. Eiji enjoys her company— _grateful_ for it. Though she drops in at the most unconventional times, her constant presence reminds him of a world he had long disassociated from. In this monster of a city that weaned on flesh and familial bonds, he had found some intimation of solace in this woman who reminded him so much of what he had left on the other side of the Earth. He figures he means the same thing for her.

xix. (part 2)

She never stays for long. Leaves right after she’s had her fill of human contact for the day; always with some words of wisdom and a too-hard pat on the back. That 5’1 tiger of an elderly woman had eaten all of the food meant for Ash, sparing nothing but crumbs on the platter. He supposes this is what Ash gets for being completely vague and ignoring his “where are you” text.

Eiji isn’t mad, of course. He understands more than anyone how draining this industry is. Ibe would go MIA sometimes whenever he worked on a project, going days, weeks, sometimes months without contacting him. He supposes acting is no different. If anything, cinematography is _nothing_ compared to what actors have to go through for their roles.

Ash must definitely be a method actor. The type that’d lock himself up in a room for days on end. Or one that would take on apprenticeships just to learn how to do a certain job right.

Eiji thinks about a young Ash at a shooting range, firing a revolver at empty beer bottles to warm up for his leading role in Banana Fish; bullets piercing everywhere that _wasn’t_ the glass. He must’ve burned every part of the gun into his mind: how the handle feels in his palm and the way the cylinder rolls. The trigger snug behind his finger and his thumb on the spur. The smell of gunpowder and the sheer amount of power in his hands; the power to make the ground shake beneath him and snuff out a human life.

They say Ash may have the potential to rise like De Niro or Nicholson with just how dedicated he is to his craft. Makes Eiji wonder sometimes if everything up to now was just some way to get into this character for his upcoming film. He can’t help that foreboding he gets whenever they part.

xix. (part 3)

> im omw

Yet no matter how fleeting this friendship is, he can’t ever stop the rapid pulse of his heart and the caramel words that would harden in his throat. Eiji is selfish. Or maybe stupid. Both.

xx.

He shows up early (if you can call ten early). Eiji supposes it is compared to last night.

“Hi,” Ash greets simply, face buried in a flannel scarf and knitted hat pulled over his ears. He looks _nice (_ it’s a step up from his sweats and usual white tee.) Corded taupe sweater. Beige cocoon coat. Ripped, black jeans cuffed at the ankles. He takes a step forward into the apartment before Eiji stops him by pressing his hands to his chest. _Soft..._

“Where are your manners, Lynx?”

“Uh?” The tips of his ear glow red.

“Asian household,” Eiji explains with a grin. “Shoes, please?”

“My bad,” he smirks, bending down to unlace and remove his boots.

“ _Now_ you can come in!” Eiji walks behind him and pushes him inside, guiding him to the couch. Ash looks over his shoulder and laughs at his eagerness before marveling at the display of strung lights adorning the high-ceilings and the flora that hung from above. “Welcome to Fort Eiji. Glad to have you, Ash!”

“Glad to be here at… _Fort Eiji_ ,” Ash whispers almost embarrassedly, surprised at himself for even playing along with his antics.

“Well?” Eiji asks, opening his arms and gesturing to the new aesthetic of the living space. “What do you think?”

“It’s very _you._ ”

“That a good thing?”

“Yeah. Cozy.” He points to a random planter dangling above his head “Plants. Rad.”

“How very kind of you to say! I think you're finally starting to learn.” Eiji winks, looking up to beam at him. Ash tucks errant strands of his hair out of his face, shifting his weight between his legs awkwardly as he keeps half of his face buried in his scarf. “What are you standing around for? Make yourself at home.”

“Can I be real? You're awfully chipper tonight. It's honestly giving me the creeps,” he mutters, eyes darting around everywhere and missing the target that is Eiji.

“I don't usually have guests, so of course I'm chipper. Am I not allowed to be happy to have you as company? Or are you still hung up from our call this morning?” Eiji tilts his head to the side, drawing a shaky exhale from Ash.

“Was sort of expecting you to be a little upset with the fact you've been ghosted the entire day by me.”

“I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“I feel really bad.”

“Don’t. I’m used to that kind of thing so—” 

“You shouldn't be,” blurts Ash, finally popping his head out of that woolen nest and unveiling his glowing face. The wind nipped at the tips of his nose and the hollow of his cheeks. Or perhaps the redness was because this was his attempt at an apology. Either way, seeing him like this was _sweet._

“What matters is that you're here now. Chin up,” Eiji coos, patting him gently on the arm. Ash scrunches his nose childishly at the gesture, stubbornly averting his gaze to the rips at his knees. “Besides, you gave me a reason to tidy up! I owe you this much.”

“Are you always like this? To people you don't know?”

“What? I know you!” 

“Well, _barely_.”

“Let me rephrase it then. ‘I like you,’ so I forgive you for last night’s apology and for being late. So does that satisfy your question?”

“That's _twice_ now you’ve said that,” stammers Ash, leaning his face toward Eiji’s to pass off some of his coyness.

“I had no idea we were keeping score. If that's the case, you've said it zero times to me.” Eiji pouts.

“You say it so easily. You gonna tell me you love me next time we see each other?” Ash is leading at this point. He's successful in infecting him with this blush-bug and feels the red slowly pulling up at his neck. Eiji bites his lip to prevent a frustrated groan from escaping.

“In my defense, you Americans just don't say it enough to each other! It’s nice to hear that you’re liked once in a while!”

“Whatever,” Ash chuckles, finally beginning to lighten up. “Feeling better already. I had a good laugh all thanks to you.” 

“Geez. You're kind of a sadist, aren't you?”

“Maybe.”

xx. (part 2)

“All your vinyl are scores. I guess you really are a film junkie.” Eiji turns back to Ash who was still thumbing through his crate of records by the entryway. “Do you listen to anything else? Anything _normal?"_

“It’s my thinking music! They all set a nice ambiance to work in. You can pop one in if you’d like,” hums Eiji, stepping over to him. He pokes his head over Ash’s shoulder, eager to see what he’d pick out of a pile of jazz and orchestral albums. “ _Norwegian Wood._ Oh, I love that one! Good choice.”

“Then let’s listen, shall we?” tells Ash, slipping the record out of its jacket. Eiji moves to take the record out of his hold, fingers brushing past his momentarily. They jerk away and move in to catch it before it shatters at their feet in perfect sync, grasping at each other’s bicep, humility keeping them distant.

“I got a little excited.”

“It’s fine.” And so Ash untangles from him and Eiji secretly wishes he’d stay just another moment longer. Wishes he wanted him to stay a moment longer as well.

Eiji coughs.

“There’s just this track that I think is so beautiful. Like _haunting._ It accompanies the scenes it’s in so well,” Eiji chatters animatedly, placing the vinyl on the spindle and watching it rotate round and round. He lifts the needle up and places it on one of the grooves in the middle. The music crackles alive, timid at first before cutting in with a somber chord of a violin.

“Not exactly boogie music.”

“ _Thinking_ music, I said! Listen,” instructs Eiji. “I love how the noise travels up in the air and echoes. How it vibrates into the floor and buzzes into the body. Feels like I’m transported inside the setting of the movie: Back in rural Japan, hand in hand with a childhood friend as we lose ourselves in a rice paddy field. Outside during the first snowfall with the one I love, watching flecks of snow get caught in their hair. It’s a bittersweet kind of feeling.”

“Bittersweet? That sounds nostalgic. Romantic even— not to be like, Socratic or anything. You happen to think very… _differently._ ”

“Maybe. But so many things can affect how a scene unfolds. An actor, for instance, can say ‘I love you’ in so many ways with just the intonation of their voice. Music’s the same, isn’t it? So is the color and shot. A couple could be sharing a tender moment while an orchestra descends into madness, setting a completely different tone. The lighting is a character in itself. Light is tranquil and _safe_ while shadows cast a sense of urgency.” Eiji covers half his face for visual effect. “When I hear things, there are some instances that I see colors, or pathways for a direction something should go. I listen to this music and I see periwinkle with navy and sepia on the fringes. When I think of these colors, ‘isolation’ is the mood that cuts through to me, and I just have this distinct _image_ of a moment in time, one that ought to be captured in film.”

Eiji uncovers his face and sees this wave of ‘isolation’ swallowing Ash up and carrying him far, far away— somewhere he cannot reach. He extends an arm out to anchor him, to keep him there at his side. But he’s lost at sea, as lost as he is on the shore waiting for someone— _anyone_ — to step onto that lonely island that he had sequestered himself on. Tides ebb and never stay for long. Ash had to be the same. 

“Eiji.” The palest yellow cuts through, a catalyst of sorts, and Eiji has to close his eyes at the sudden sensory overload. Right. He remembers the feeling of his feet against the ground, cyclic motion of the record, of Ash in front of him and the arousing smell of sandalwood emanating from his body, and his hand fisting his sweater to keep him from leaving him all alone.

_His hand fisting Ash’s sweater._

In panic, Eiji eyes shoot open and Ash is more than ‘in front of him—' why, he’s a tiny breadth apart now with his fairy-dusted lashes brushing against the skin of his cheeks, lips slightly parted enough to see the ridges of his two front teeth. His eyes flit from his lips to his eyes, unsure of what possessed him to pull such a silly expression.

“Did I bore you so much that you fell asleep standing up?” Eiji asks softly, hand loosening its hold on him. Immediately, Ash flutters back to consciousness and staggers backwards, like his question was some sort of rude awakening. His face is beet-red, throat uttering the same vowel.

“What? That’s not— I thought you wanted me to—”

“I just get so _passionate_ when it comes to films, so I babble! Really bad habit of mine!”

“Are you playing dumb or something? That’s not the problem here!” Ash ejaculates. “It seems to me that you’ve got a real bad habit of sending out mixed signals.”

Eiji laughs, relishing in another victory of making Ash lose his composure. He makes a rectangle out of his pointers fingers and thumbs and captures Ash between the space.

“I want to keep you in film forever like this, captured in an anamorphic lens with the slightest grains. In two-fifty daylight stock so you’re all bright and vivid and warm. It’d be so _breathtaking._ ”

“Gibberish is all I’m getting from you. Nerd is a foreign language,” Ash murmurs, hiding his face behind his palm.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he stalks over to him and wrestles his hand away to look him in the eye, “you produced a very beautiful scene. Your voice takes on a pleasant yellow hue, did you know? I feel inspired.”

“And I feel… _played._ Like a fiddle.”

xx. (part 3)

“My neighbor came in for lunch and ate all the food meant for you.” Eiji tip-toes carefully with two scalding cups over to Ash all settled up on the couch, feet kicked up on the low table as he scrolls down his socials. “But hey, you get a taste of one of my specialties. Hope you’re good with chopsticks.”

“This is just instant ramen,” deadpans Ash, taking it from his hold.

“ _With a boiled egg_.”

“‘With a boiled egg.’ Sorry, Gordon Ramsey.”

“Shh. Your sarcasm’s making the broth cold.” Eiji blows on his soup, purposely blowing the steam in his face. He takes a seat next to Ash and sticks tongue out before reciting his thanks for the food. Ash raises a brow curiously and takes this as a social cue to do the same.

“Many kisses to the chef.”

“Which is _me._ Hard pass.”

“Many _punches_.” And they fill the silence with their starving slurps, liquid sodium splattering their cheeks. It’s almost a race to see who could finish first with just how eagerly they ate, like they’d been casted away from society and this was their first meal upon return. Ash’s nose is running and Eiji chokes on rice noodles.

Eiji bursts out in laughter, setting his half-eaten cup down to ridicule Ash’s dishevelled appearance.

“Gross.”

“You didn’t tell me it was spicy!” Ash splutters, wiping his forehead with a hand. He loosens his scarf, unloops it until it hangs on his shoulders. Eiji’s stare doesn’t mean to linger there, but it does; traces the slope of his neck, the beads of sweat that ran beneath his the collar of his sweater and—

“Oh. So _that’s_ why you were late,” he drones. A clear purple film casts over his eyes and it’s all he can see. A bruise that takes over Ash’s body, a blob of ink staining pure white. A bruise that goads him for reasons unknown. Noticing his stare, Ash clasps a hand on the spot quick, like he’d been caught guilty doing something he shouldn’t be doing. A Pavlovian response for someone as cool and unpredictable as him. Eiji forces a smile to get nerve-endings to function again. “Your girlfriend would be mad if she found out you came over.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s not like that.”

“Did you get bit by a vampire?” Eiji teases. “A _horny_ vampire?”

“You’re impossible. It’s for a role, birdbrain.” Ash pushes his forehead with his fingers, but it doesn’t deter Eiji from scooching closer to him with interest. “Getting into character, if you will.”

“Y-You—!” Eiji’s mouth hangs open for a bit before his brain remembers how to process words and their phonetics. “You did _it_ to get into character?” he asks shyly.

“Such a kid.” Ash reaches a hand out to touch him, there, on the top of his head, but catches himself before he could make landing. It disappoints Eiji, who in turn frowns as he watches him tuck that very hand away in his lap. “Hard to believe you’re older than me. It’s like ‘sex’ is a no-no word for you. You must be a virgin.”

“Wh— Of course not!" He is. "It’s just I’m a bit clueless with actors and all. I don’t know how far they’d go to, you know, _transform_ into a different person.”

“As far as they can take it if they’ve got the fortitude to.” The answer is disconcerting. Eiji, unsettled by the way his eyes fog and the way his lips stretch to a taut line, treads cautiously. He watches the trembling of his fingers, the anxious shake of his leg.

“And how far do you take it?” whispers Eiji, cursing his naivety and need for confirmation. He fears what he’ll hear— fears even more the hollowness Ash will deliver it with.

“As far as it goes.”

And that’s that. Finishes his meal as if it’s nothing. Wallows in the faint buzz of the evening news and the erratic up-and-down of Eiji’s heavy chest.

“What about now? Are you still trying to get into character in my apartment?” Ash chuckles dryly as an answer.

Suddenly everything is laid out on the table and Eiji does not know what to do with the parts he’s been given since the moment they laid eyes on each other.

xx. (part 4)

“Hey, Eiji?”

“Hm?” By this hour, all of the shitty reality TV shows were on, and Ash was flipping through the channels to distract himself from the fact that the weight of Eiji’s head was on his shoulder while another orchestral score revolved faintly behind them. Eiji hates to admit that he's too exhausted from his chores and mulling over footage to actually feel that invigorating thump of his pulse, the blood rushing to his face, and the shame of using Ash as a pillow.

“You mentioned that you pole-vaulted.” Oh. Definitely not what he expected to come out of his mouth. He was sort of expecting a ‘it’s getting late’ leeway. Or some kind of farewell. It was almost as if he _didn’t_ want to go home.

Eiji narrows his gaze at the TV screen, trying to focus on the corny Live PD program to keep himself from dozing off.

“I did,” he yawned.

“Were you any good?” His eyelids begin to droop and vignettes of his glory days are stained behind there. The pole in his hands, body twisting over a raised bar, that slow-motion effect of his entire being suspended in air— breaking all of Newton’s laws. He was phenomenal.

“I was good.” National-level good. Olympic-worthy good.

“I can’t help but wonder how you ended up… _here."_

“I usually travel with Ibe—”

“No. Into film and all. How’d you even get into it?”

“Why are you suddenly asking all of these questions? Happen to stumble upon my highschool pictures online?” Eiji jokes halfheartedly, sort of hoping Ash would drop the subject altogether.

“I’m curious, is all.”

“A specific kind of ‘curious.’”

“ _Interested_ ,” he clarifies, shifting his position on the couch and ‘accidentally’ letting Eiji rest his head on his chest. It’s very _wrong_ to be this close and intimate with him, but cognitive dissonance tricks him into staying right there since he’s a wink away from slumber.

“I’m not very interesting, you know.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I just love movies. That’s all there is to it,” Eiji tells him. “Nothing spectacular. I don’t have a fantastical explanation. They were there for me at my lowest. I’ve simply moved from one thing to another.”

“Moved on.”

“From pole-vaulting. It’s all in the past now,” he says, and cuts the topic off right there before it could take root and grow. “Any more burning questions, Your Nosiness?”

“I do, but it looks like you’re too busy drooling on me to coherently answer.” His vision’s blurring as he looks up at Ash. He really shouldn’t sleep here, with his contacts on and everything, but the circumstances were almost too perfect. It’s that odd state of limbo of wakefulness and drowsiness that makes him question whether or not Ash’s fingers are threading through his hair. It feels comforting. “Still awake?”

Eiji hums, too fatigued for sentences.

He settles on remembering the count of Ash’s heart and the culmination of his voice, static, and the music that lulled in the background; watching the colors piece together into an impressionist landscape. A pretty panorama to dream to. It’s beckoning him to visit and explore and leave Ash in his apartment in his lonesome.

“Let me leave this in the past too. I wanted to tell you that you were right. About everything,” Ash whispers airily, disappearing into all of the noise. His lips tickle the shell of his ear, like butterflies kissing him goodnight, coaxing him into a deep, languid state of relaxation. “And I have another confession to make.”

By the time the words make it out, they fall on deaf ears. Eiji is gone and away, living in a fantasy abundant in sunflowers and lemon marmalade. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait!! i wasn't sure how to approach the scenarios i wanted to present, so i ended up writing something "cute" instead of angsty for now. this was a big ol headcanon dump for me (and lowkey me nerding out through eiji. haruki murakami is one of my biggest inspos for writing.) but hopefully i introduced enough things to get the ball rolling next chapter. =) i like writing in eiji's pov because it leaves ash's actions and motives unclear mwahahaha.  
> thank you for reading!!! and take care!! <333
> 
> [twitter!](https://mobile.twitter.com/selfetish)


	8. lover, please stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> legos, snotty eggs, and ei-chan

* * *

lover, i feel your sorrow  
pourin' out of your skin.  
i don't wanna be alone.  
if i end tonight, i'll always be.

— [nothing but thieves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v78PSm1R7bg)

* * *

xxi.

Imagine this:

You’re a twenty-four year old bachelor with a real knack for sleeping on the couch when you’ve already got a nice, snug bed in the other room. You’re twenty-four and you like collecting figurines, vinyl, VHS tapes and broken cameras that you say you’ll fix (but never do). You’re twenty-four, living in the big city and despite all of the people you find yourself shrugging shoulders with, you’re still completely and utterly alone.

Your sister calls you every other week. Teases you for traveling the world and still not being able to bring home a cute girl for your mother. If only it were that easy. If only girls made your heart stir. Maybe you’d be home right now. Maybe you wouldn’t be constantly questioning your decision of packing up all your Samsonites and creating zigzags all over the map. Maybe you’d be comfortable. Happy.

But no. You’re Ei-chan from Izumo. You’re the _guwapong lalake_ that lives in Apt 309, so generously named by the Filipina grandma who mistakens you as her personal tech guy. Your name isn’t even your name anymore, but someone else’s: Shunichi’s assistant. Ibe’s kid. Ash’s fling.

Fly Boy is all but a distant memory; a symbol of all the good times that have passed you by. You wear this ex-athlete, ex-Olympic hopeful title as a chip on your shoulder. You hate it, but you still wear the damn thing because that’s all you were. All you’ll ever be.

You’re nobody.

“Nobody.” Rolls right off the tongue. Numbs that nagging feeling of your golden age. Blends you into the background where you belong. You’re starting to feel content with that name. You like how you can’t experience pain anymore when you’re empty. You’re null. You’re nothing.

Yet somehow, somebody saw you in a crowd. Picked you up like a stray kitten in a cardboard box. Coddled you with a touch you’ve been starved of for years and left you wanting _more._ You know he feels sorry for you. He’s doing you a _favor_ just by being near you. How selfish are you for wanting— _needing_ his touch? His words? How do you sleep at night, knowing you’re weaning off of someone else’s kindness and success again like some kind of parasite?

But you can’t help that you want to be somebody too when you’re with him. He’s young and beautiful and talented. Wise beyond his years. Everything you want. Everything you’re not.

A star.

You strive to be better, to have the grandeur of walking at his side, because when you’re with him, you see things in 70s technicolor. You raise your voice. You laugh and smile. There’s movement in your chest— not quite a stir, but _something._ The embrace of companionship, perhaps, holding you tight, giving you purpose. You miss that warmth. That feel-good pang under your ribcage.

It takes you this morning. The smell of something burning. (You don’t own any candles. Is the apartment on fire?) The sight of him, a golden boy hidden behind a velvet, aubergine curtain, tinkering around with that Lego set you’ve yet to finish at the dinner table. (Did he seriously go into your room without permission? He's insufferable!)

“Morning, Sunshine.” The sound of his lemondrop voice. “Was gonna return the favor for last night’s dinner and make breakfast, but as you can probably smell, it flopped.” 

Instead of flinging playground insults his way, the words just release on their own, like a breath you’ve been holding in for ages.

“You spent the night here,” you whisper, startled by how small you sound.

“Was I not supposed to? If this is weird, I can always—”

“Stay.”

It takes you the puckish curve of his lip. Flecks in his eyes. The shuffle of his bare feet on wood moving towards you. His hands fixing the fleece throw blanket covering your shivering body.

“I’ll stay.” It takes you those two words to finally understand that you’re _you_.

You’re Eiji Okumura when you’re with him.

xxi. (part 2)

“You should _know_ that oil and water don’t mix!”

“Of course I know that! And well, I didn’t mean to put in that much water!”

“You put it into _scalding hot oil_.”

“Sorry that I was trying to be nice for once and cook something! And the website didn’t specify how much water to—”

“Remind me not to let you near the kitchen ever again.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“I won’t be the last.”

xxii.

“Eiji.”

Eiji turns his head a fraction as he shimmies a fried egg onto a plate, whistling along to the Taeko Onuki record that spun from the living room. A flash is caught in his eyes as Ash poses in front of him with a peace sign, tongue poking out obnoxiously as seen on the screen of his phone. Eiji almost drops his pan.

“Geez! What are you—”

“Selfie.” Ash shows the photo he snapped to him.

“I swear, if you’re posting that…” Suddenly conscious of his attire, he begins to untie the frilly pink apron knotted around his waist.

“Oh no. Nope. I mean, look how grumpy you look.” He pinches his finger on the screen and zooms in on Eiji’s scowl. “Might scare someone with that face you’re pullin’. How ‘bout we take another one?”

“How about we,” he pushes the plate into his chest, “sit down and get some food into our system? Kind of early for Instagramming, don’t you think?” Eiji smiles sardonically.

“Never too early.” _Click!_ “Oh! This one’s cute. A _definite_ post.”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of our current predicament, Ash, but I wouldn’t add fuel to the fire—”

“This is my thanks for taking me into Fort Eiji. For an unforgettable night of Sapporo ramen and late night cable television.” Is he for real?

Eiji scoffs, unsure if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Look. There’s been so many misunderstandings circulating in the last twenty-four hours and I’d just like a little peace and quiet.”

For a moment, Eiji thinks he finally understands. He pockets his phone and grabs his toast and sits up on the counter to stare Eiji down. Eiji sighs, relieved, and leans back on the stove, folding his arms over his chest.

“...Okay, but what should I caption it?” Ash smirks.

“You’re a _twerp_.”

“A twerp that’s trying to help further your _career_ ,” adds Ash, pointing his bread at Eiji and then biting. “You might as well make the most out of the sitch and soak in all of this exposure now that you’re officially out there. Could help you network with the higher-ups in the industry.”

“Well, aren’t you an angel?” Eiji laughs churlishly, pushing himself off from the stove with the heels of his palm and stepping toward Ash. Catching the tone in his throat, instinctively Ash moves his head back, unprepared for the space between them to be frittered away. Playing that game Ash seemed to love so much, he presses his hands on either side of his hips, holding onto granite. Crimson is a darling color on Ash. “Sent down to earth to fly me to success. Oh, what a miracle you are! What would I do without you? Who would I _be_ without you?”

“Stop with the dramatics. I get it,” he mutters, hyperfixated on the veins that crawled up Eiji’s sleeves. “The picture was more for me, anyways. I wasn’t _actually_ gonna post it.”

“I don’t think you do,” says Eiji. “I’m getting this vibe that you think of me as some sort of… _charity case_. Like, you think I can’t do things on my own.”

“ _You?_ No way.”

“For an actor, you’re not very convincing.”

“Most painful insult I’ve heard in awhile, thanks.”

“Ash. I’m being serious.” Eiji tilts his head up towards his, making sure to keep eye contact. “Are we even on the same wavelength?”

“Don’t know.” Ash matches the angle of his face and licks the crumbs on his lips. “Are we?”

Eiji dreads the way he looks at his mouth, lids drooping over his marble eyes like he’s hungry for a little something more than sunny-side up eggs. Dreads the way he isn’t so shy anymore as they share the same breath. The same beating heart.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but please. Let me have this one thing, Ash. Let me grow on my own.”

It would take one nudge forward for them to initiate a lover’s praxis; a point of no return. This is exactly what Ash wants, isn’t it? Losing his mind to the temporary romance in otherwise meaningless gazes? It’s not working, Eiji convinces himself. He won’t be fooled by Hollywood faces and the hand currently snaking up the slope of his neck.

“Oh, Eiji. _Sunshine_ ,” Ash breathes, thumb circling his cheek. Eiji almost leans into his palm. Almost.

“Why are you doting on me?” chuckles Eiji, clasping onto the hand cradling his face. “It’ll be a long road, but what’s a dream without hard work?”

“You don’t get it.” He shakes his head and furrows his brows, like he’s reluctant to let go. Scared to. “They’ll eat you alive and spit you out. They’ll take your smile, your laugh, your _tears_ and leave nothing left if you’re not careful. If you’re not…” Ash’s got the same fragility from before. He’s trembling in his arms, frozen in a time before Eiji and burnt toast, flashing lights and snaps of a camera, cinders and smoke. He’s lost in a crepuscular shadow in broad daylight, pulling him down into some unforeseen dimension, void of any life. Where his shine is snuffed out by penumbras and his own silhouette. 

Eiji had a sojourn there and shared that very elegiac expression.

Ash is Eiji. Eiji is Ash. One in the same.

“Hey,” he coos. His arms wrap around his body and everything stops. Ash’s profile slots into the curve of his shoulder perfectly and they meld together into one being, like this is how it’s supposed to be— _destined_ to be. He comforts him the only way he knows how and pets his hair, draws circles onto his back, and hums a snippet of _Tokai_. The sound of summer. Of home. His mother did a lot of humming back in the day. To a couple of naughty kids who’d lay awake in the middle of night, in desperate need for sedation. To his father as he laid in his deathbed, sending him off to the afterlife. To him, a boy who had lost his everything. His will to live. “You’ll be alright. You’ll be okay,” he tells Ash. He tells himself.

With the way Ash clutches onto the straps of his apron and the hot exhale sultry on his skin, he really begins to believe that it really will be.

xxiii. 

Four eggs. Three sunny-side up. One over-easy. Ash chomps into bread. Inhales snotty eggs. Washes it down with OJ. Repeat.

There’s just an _art_ in the way he does it. Eiji’s never seen someone so skinny eat so much in a span of five or so minutes. He props his cheek onto his palm and admires, feeling his belly fill up with every swallow and gulp. 

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” he mutters, breaking his egg and soaking it up with toast.

“I like the way you eat. It’s like my eggs are the best thing you’ve ever had.”

“Just hungry, is all.”

“ _Very_.”

“You made it for me, so…” He wipes the yolk running down his chin with a thumb and licks it clean, relishing in the way Eiji darts his eyes away, like he’d been caught looking at something he shouldn’t have. “What? Did I make your heart skip a beat?”

Eiji gruffly turns his head.

“ _No!_ It’s just… It’s been awhile since I cooked for someone. I know it’s just eggs but… I miss it. Having someone at the table with me. Enjoying something I made.” He blows on the lip of his mug and sips his tea slowly; letting it drip down with all of the homesick feelings he’d bottled up. “It’s the small things, I guess.”

“Such a softie,” chuckles Ash.

Eiji blushes, steam pushing out of his ears and nostrils.

“Yeah? So?”

“It’s adorable.” Eiji isn’t sure if it’s one of those cheap, celebrity compliments or if he’s trying to be a terrible flirt again. Even so, he’s still ensnared by the purr of his voice and the absurdity in using ‘adorable’ on a grown man. “ _You’re_ adorable. Anyone ever tell you that? Because you are. Really.”

“Shut up and eat,” grumbles Eiji sheepishly, stuffing his face with whatever’s in sight to distract him from the echoing ‘adorables’ going off in his head.

“That’s no way to take a compliment, buddy! I’m literally helping you _practice_ for when you make it big!”

“ _If._ ”

“ _When_. You and your semantics.”

“Giving me help that I never asked for. You’re on a roll.”

It’s always like this. Some native taking him— the pitiable, accented, doe-eyed Japanese boy with seemingly no clue about the world and how it works— under their wing. Teaching him tricks. New slang. Neat ways to pick up women. It was like painting a blank canvas, and Ash was coloring him with all sorts of pinks and crimsons.

Coloring…

Ash slips a tuft of his hair behind his ear, revealing the long slope of his neck to him once more, and the blossoming of an deep, indigo bruise that seemed to worsen overnight; a vortex that seemed to suck in Eiji’s hand. Ash flinches before it makes contact.

“Sorry. Does it still hurt?” Though he’d been sitting this entire time, Ash’s chest is heaving, catching his breath. 

“This… I mean—” He scrapes his fork against the plate, suddenly losing his appetite. “I’m fine.”

“It looks bad.”

Ash shakes his head. “No. This happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about,” he lies.

Eiji raises a brow. “Huge bruises don't just ‘happen sometimes.’”

“Not for you, maybe. But it does to me.” Delicate, then hard. Flirty, then sagely. On, and then off, like he could switch between personalities at the flick of a switch. Which one is real? “Think I’d rather you use the word ‘hickey’ than ‘bruise.’ You’re makin’ me sound like some loser who lost a fistfight.”

Eiji wasn’t in the dark about these kinds of things. After all, he’d been a teenage boy once. The guys on the track team would spend their weekends with their girlfriends; living it up at karaoke bars and relaxing at tawdry love hotels. The kinds with mirrors on the ceiling and rose-petaled heart bathtubs. Plastic bowls filled with condoms of every size, color, and flavor like complimentary candy.

It isn’t hard to connect the dots when you’re changing in the locker rooms and underneath the white-red of their uniform is the fresh mark of a lover. Indents at the junction of their neck and shoulder, petals of love-me-nots. Lavenders in full bloom. Eiji would always find his gaze lingering at his teammates’ blemishes, wondering if a darling’s bite hurts, or if it’s some kind of rite of passage into manhood. They’d catch his stare and think nothing of it, clapping their big hands onto their dear team captain’s back with a laugh and smile, cheering him on to finally find a sweet girl to hook up with. ‘The prettiest girls are throwing themselves at your feet,’ they’d tell him. ‘You’ve gotta go on at least _one_ date, cap!’

If only they knew.

Looking at Ash now and the not-mark of a not-lover, Eiji thinks himself to be the best actor he knows. Who was Ash trying to kid? That on his skin was not a lovely flower, but a grape squashed under his heel, spilling out all of its slimy green guts.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” he asks, seeing Harumi in all of Ash’s pensiveness. Eiji eclipses his hand over Ash’s, holding his once strong hand into his own, fighting the silence with the one-two-three-four countings of his knuckles. “I’m here for you. Always.”

Ash exhales shakily and looks down at Eiji caressing him.

“‘ _Always,'_ ” he whispers. “I won’t be able to take it much longer if you spoil me with your frilly words.” Eiji gulps as he guides his hand to his face, feeling the softness of his cheek fill his palm. He nuzzles into his hold the way a cat does to memorize heart lines. He wonders if Ash can hear him pulsing and those heavy _badums_ of how he makes him feel. “If you keep saying things like that, Eiji, I’ll lose it. I’ll go crazy. I’ll seriously _explode._ I wouldn’t be able to recover.” 

Ash is looking directly at him, but it’s as though he’s looking beyond skin. Like he’s stripped him bare. Like he’s looking at the fibers and filaments of his muscles and the veins coursing through him; his ligaments and cartilage and the milk-white bones connected to them. His stare has a hold on his heart, gripping him between the aortas and arteries, squeezing him until he’s bleeding out all of his love; until it’s mush; until it's reduced to nothing but the fire of his soul.

(Can you call it that? Can you call this love? Love for what? For _whom_?) 

He studies the depths of that lick of flame; if it’s as true and honest as the surface.

“I don’t think I can leave you alone. Not with how you’re making me feel. Not when I’ve finally _found_ you,” says Ash.

Ash is a pyre engulfed by the blue inferno that is _him._ His flesh is melting like molten wax, hardening on the table as if he was an ivory votive candle. He becomes nothing, almost completely disappearing until Eiji finds him too. His flame is small, flickering like the adornments on birthday pastries. It’s so tiny and waning that Eiji fears that it’ll go out if he so much as breathes on it. “Am I selfish for wanting that much? Being near you like this again?”

The way it clings to existence, to _being_ , is so profoundly sad. It’s trying desperately hard to keep itself alight that it makes Eiji want to weep. 

Who has reduced an untameable wildfire to this? To a tiny spark? To... 

“Ash…” Eiji is thumbing his eyelashes, outlining the neat trim of his brow.

“I’ve played pretend for all my life. Lived in so many worlds. It gets so murky sometimes, and frankly, I’m beginning to feel a bit tired.” He moves his head so his jaw is flush against the heel of his palm, pressing his lips to the inside of Eiji’s knuckles. “I’m so tired.”

“Run away,” Eiji says. “You can run away and leave everything behind. You can do whatever you want.”

“Why run when everything I need is right here?” His profile leaves the mold of his hand, and Eiji kind of misses it. Ash instead replaces it with the intertwining of their fingers; souls linked together by some indescribable force. “ _Always_ , you said. Always is forever, in a way. That carries a lot of weight. I know you don’t actually mean it but I like the sentiment.”

“All of it!” exclaims Eiji in an inchoate tone. “I meant it in every sense. You’re a friend now, so you’ve… You’ve become a part of me.”

“I’ll let you deceive me. Just this once.” He smiles wistfully. “I won’t care if your ‘forever’ is a couple of months or weeks or days. I won’t care if you hurt me. Right now, this is the happiest someone’s made me in a long, long time.”

“I’m happy I met you, too.”

“Sorry, am I jumping the gun here? Goin’ all gung ho on you like that… Must be an odd thing to spring on a guy you haven’t known too long.” He laughs. "You remind me a lot of him. My brother."

“Not at all.” Ash is hurting— Eiji understands this much. What he needs now is an ear and shoulder, and Eiji is willing to give him that.

Eiji scoots close to him, snaking an arm around his back in an embrace as Ash holds his hand. He draws circles on the fabric of his sweater, lump catching in his throat when he feels the press of Ash’s nose against his neck taking him in; remembering his scent. He fits so perfectly against him, like a key to a lock. Eiji can’t help but think he’s done this before in a different lifetime millions of times. Holding him close, smoothing his hair down, feeling the expanding of his lungs on his own— breathing in exact intervals.

“Thank you, _Ei-chan_.” When he hears that nickname release from his lips, it electrifies every nerve-ending in him, a recall of sorts to somewhere, someplace, _someone_ he can’t seem to remember. For a second there, he believes ‘a different lifetime' might be a bit of a stretch. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'hold me closer than your fantasy' is a year old! thank you all for sticking with this fic despite all of its sporadic updates. :'-) hoping you all continue to stay safe and have a merry christmas. <3333
> 
> [twitter!](https://mobile.twitter.com/selfetish)


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